


Dog Days

by arabmorgan



Series: A Little Happiness [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Transformation, Drama, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Iron Man 3, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7510294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabmorgan/pseuds/arabmorgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After getting on Amora's bad side one too many times, Tony finds himself taken in by a Norse god who is supposed to be quite dead. Also, he's suddenly a dog and Loki clearly has no clue what being a pet owner involves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is officially the longest thing I've ever written (although I'm still a bit iffy about quality, honestly; multi-chaps aren't my forte). All 12 chapters are ready and waiting in the wings, so updates will be fairly frequent.
> 
> If you're confused, things will be clearer in the next chapter (which will also be longer), I promise!
> 
> Also...the summary probably makes this sound funnier than it really is. Oh well.

“You interfering mortal _scum_.”

Tony had a feeling that there was a lesson to be learnt here – possibly something along the lines of _never get between Amora and her true love_ – but he was a little too busy in freefall to pursue that line of thought.

What the hell had happened to his suit?

And on that note, where was his rescue?

“Guys? A little help here?” he tried to say, but he could barely hear himself past the wind blowing past his ears with what felt like the force of a hurricane. The ground was rushing up towards him at a speed that would be exhilarating if only he still had the power of flight. Right now, however, all it was invoking was an uncomfortably familiar sense of mindless terror.

_Park, pond, water, higher chance of survival?_

Vaguely, he remembered reading an article about how water was actually a pretty awful surface on which to fall.

_Trees? Impaled by branches?_

But it was almost too late by then. Tony thrashed around for a bit, wondering if he could ‘swim’ through air, but his body felt strange, like it wasn’t his own. Probably completely numb, he surmised dully.

Leaves smacked him distractingly in the face before he crashed into a sturdy branch that slowed his terminal velocity with painful abruptness. _Hugely_ painful – he would’ve screamed if all the air hadn’t been driven out of his lungs and he didn’t feel like he’d been sheared clean in half. Maybe all his organs had imploded from the force, because he couldn’t think of anything else that would cause pain this excruciating.

Then the branch broke and he tumbled the few remaining feet to the dirt, panting and heaving uselessly as he fought against the darkness that was edging his vision.

It felt like an age had passed, although it was probably only a minute or so, when soft footsteps sounded behind him, and he heard the distinct rustle of thin undergrowth being pushed through. It wasn’t a sound Tony recalled hearing very often. It sure was funny the things you started to notice when you were about to die.

A cool hand turned him over onto his back, and there it was again – the strange sensation of his body not belonging to him. His limbs felt gangly and uncoordinated, like he was suddenly going through the long-limbed teenager phase he had been fortunate enough to miss.

But teenager-like body or not, the mild movement heralded a _whole_ lot of pain, and it took a while for the white spots flaring behind his eyes to fade.

An oddly yellowish face was leaning over him, expression faintly bemused as it took in Tony’s predicament.

“Stark?” The voice rang all sorts of alarm bells in his head, but all he could think of at the moment was a faintly hysterical, _What, am I so disfigured now that I’m not even recognisable?_

And then he realised that he was in Hell, because it was Loki who was leaning over him. As in mass murdering, alien army-leading Loki who was supposed to be _dead_ after saving Thor.

“Oh, it’s you,” Tony tried to croak, but all that came out was a pathetic sounding whine before he promptly passed out.

* * *

Loki stared down at the unconscious mortal, torn between amusement and mild discomfort at the situation. How fitting that it should be the loud-mouthed Stark who would cause him (and Amora, it seemed) so much trouble.

He had put a fair amount of effort into keeping his presence on Midgard a secret, and now one of Thor’s pesky friends held the knowledge that he was very much alive. It absolutely wouldn’t do to have his cover blown, not when he was still working to break the thrice-damned geas the All-Father had saddled him with.

He really should have known better than to venture out in an attempt to gain a good vantage point of the Avengers’ latest skirmish, but Amora was an old acquaintance who always had interesting tricks up her sleeve. There really was very little a woman who believed herself desperately in love wouldn’t do.

The unmistakable backlash of a powerful spell and the sight of the Iron Man’s twisting form abruptly plummeting to the ground had been enough to lure Loki to the site of the crash.

A decision that he already regretted, given that he had clearly been recognised. The only thing left to do was to kill the mortal before he could trumpet Loki’s presence from the rooftop of his ridiculous abode, although it looked like the fall would do that for him soon enough.

Really, the only thing the conveniently-placed tree had done was to fail to kill Stark outright, instead prolonging his agony before his inevitable demise.

He placed a hand on the mortal’s abdomen, feeling the shallow, laboured breaths rising and falling beneath his palm, probing with a mere tendril of power past the lacerated flesh, at the ruptured organs bleeding into the rest of Stark’s body.

It would be so easy; he wouldn’t even have to lift a finger. Just stand up and walk away, and no one would ever have to know how Tony Stark met his end.

And yet.

It wasn’t as if Stark would be capable of verbal communication in the near future. It wasn’t as if it would be difficult to keep a single, powerless mortal contained.

Stark was an important being on Midgard, not only to the Avengers, but to the rulers of the realm as well. Loki had not been idle; he was aware of just how much SHIELD relied on the Iron Man for his knowledge and skills. He would make a good bargaining chip at some point, if the need ever arose. Loki couldn’t hope to keep his feigned death a secret forever, after all

Making up his mind, he reached into his limited stores of magic, trickling it slowly into the mortal’s fragile form, directing it carefully to the worst of the damage. He knit organs back together, siphoned blood pooling in the abdominal cavity back where it rightly belonged, mended the dangerous cracks in the spine.

Already Stark’s heart was beating more strongly than before. The remaining fractured bones, the torn muscles, the sluggishly-bleeding wounds – those would have to heal without magical aid. He had already expended too much precious energy on this foolish creature as it was.

 _With Stark as your hostage, you will have the advantage over Thor now_ , he reminded himself, holding back an exasperated sigh as he called upon his magic once more in order to make the trip back to his apartment.

It was only an unintended bonus that the past months he had spent on Midgard had been rather lonely, and the ‘dog’ creature whose form Stark currently wore was said to be a famed companion of Midgardians since ages past.

Back in the park, among the bushes, a soft curl of green smoke dispersed into the air.


	2. Dognapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as timelines go, this takes place roughly 1.5 years after Avengers, which equates to a year after Iron Man 3 and half a year after The Dark World. Picture of dog!Tony coming your way next chapter, when Tony manages to get a visual of himself.

Tony awoke to a shitload of pain, enough that he would have panicked had sunlight not been streaming into the room, warming him enough to drag him away from the memory of dark caves and desperation.

He shifted, biting back a grunt at the flaring pain along his side that suggested a few rib fractures at the very least. God, it felt like he’d been forced to run a hundred miles before being beaten with a very large stick for an hour.

Giving up on moving for the moment, he laid his head back down on the cool floor tiles, exhausted by the simple act of being awake.

Huh, kind of strange that he was on the floor.

Taking a good look around for the first time, at least as far as his eyes could roll around in their sockets, he began to realise that something was definitely fishy. For one thing, he was in a completely unfamiliar apartment – oh, it was nicely furnished, if a little sparse, but being a kidnapper (presumably) wasn’t exactly mutually exclusive with having good sense in house décor.

Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, his eyesight had picked a _great_ time to go wacko. He felt like he had fallen into a Van Gogh painting, like that one Looney Tunes movie or whatever. Everything was so… _blue_. And yellow.

Had he injured his eyes? How – _oh_.

That _witch_ Amora had done something to him. It was all coming back now – the terrifying freefall, the fall-breaking tree branch, and…Loki.

 _Oh_ , Tony thought again, rather dismally, remembering the way Loki’s face, slightly blurred around the edges, had hovered over his.

So he wasn’t dead. So _Loki_ wasn’t dead.

Well, it was another reason for Thor to feast, after he got over the betrayal. Again.

Had the crazy god saved him? Captured him? Did that mean he was in Loki’s bachelor pad right now?

It didn’t matter. First things first, he had to find a way to contact the team, let them know he was alive and in possible need of a heroic rescue, because there was no way he was getting anywhere in good time at the moment.

Attempting to raise his head immediately redoubled the run-over-by-a-cement-truck feeling that hadn’t really let up since he’d awoken, but it also alerted him to a very strange sensation around his neck. It wasn’t anywhere close to strangulation, but it was definitely unshakeable and uncomfortable.

In fact, it felt a bit like a collar.

_What the hell?_

Shuffling gingerly onto his elbows, a pair of paws appeared pretty much in front of his face. A little yip of surprise escaped from his mouth, and Tony froze, suddenly very aware of the awkward, not-his-body feeling from before.

He moved his right hand slightly; the right paw twitched, looking vaguely spasmodic.

He lifted his left hand; obligingly, the left paw raised itself off the ground. _His_ left paw.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” he moaned, but all that his mouth emitted was a very despondent whine.

Shit. Shit on a shit stick.

He was going to _kill_ Amora.

And then maybe get down on his knees and beg Loki to transform him back since the Asgardian seemed to be on the non-murderous swing of his insanity pendulum. Except he didn’t have knees anymore, did he? Not ones conducive for kneeling anyway.

He desperately wanted to get a good look at himself – was Tony Stark the dog as majestic as Tony Stark the man? – but even a slight turn of his head was enough to tug painfully at his injured ribs. Twisting his neck around enough to get a glimpse of himself was currently quite beyond his pain threshold.

He could feel his tail though, and _boy_ was that a weird feeling, like he’d sprouted an extra flexible leg out of his butt. He thumped it on the floor experimentally, and felt mildly cheered up in spite of the pain in was in.

Presumably, the eyesight was an unfortunate canine side effect as well. So dogs lived life in a perpetual Impressionist painting – good to know, but extremely disconcerting.

It took Tony another two minutes to get bored with his inability to move. Where was Loki anyway? Maybe he thought Tony too weak to make any escape attempts, which was sadly true.

Annoyed at this lack of attention, Tony let out a loud bark. It resounded satisfactorily in the small apartment, so he did it twice more for good measure.

Two seconds later, Loki emerged from some unseen corridor on the opposite end of what Tony had come to realise was a living room. The god was dressed rather startlingly in what looked like a large grey tee and black jeans (technically, he could have been wearing hot pink for all Tony knew, but whatever), which should have made him look endearingly harmless. Instead, it only emphasised how dangerously the air around him crackled in spite of his decidedly casual outfit.

He didn’t look particularly annoyed or pissed off though, so Tony took that as a good sign.

“So, you are awake.” Loki strode over and sat down on the floor beside Tony’s prone form without hesitation, which was somewhat surprising. After all, Tony was fairly sure he could bite pretty nastily if he wanted to. Not that he was thinking of doing that, but it was annoying not to be considered a threat at all.

Another whine bubbled up from his throat when Loki turned him over onto his back as easily as one would roll a ball. His legs were up in the air in a _seriously_ undignified position, but it actually felt slightly better to take the weight off his stomach, so he tried not to complain too much.

“That branch gave you some fairly deep lacerations on the way down,” Loki mused, seemingly to himself, as he began to unwind bandages Tony hadn’t even realised were wrapped around his torso. The god seemed satisfied at the sight of whatever horror his fall had resulted in, and began rewrapping the wounds with a new roll of magically-summoned bandages, manhandling Tony with ease.

It occurred to Tony at some point that he should probably be freaking out a lot more at being in such close proximity to a guy he’d last seen muzzled and bound and on the way to alien jail more than a year ago. After all, Loki had clearly been working on keeping his miraculous return from the dead a tight secret, and he probably wouldn’t be averse to a spot of murder to make sure that information stayed just that.

But he was currently exhausted, in pain, and pretty much an invalid at said god’s mercy, so Tony decided he could be given a pass for not doing his best to take Loki into custody right away. The getting-mad-about-the-invasion could probably wait as well, for when his bite was worse than his bark.

He let out a soft huff of discomfort when he was set down on his side again, tilting his head to keep Loki in view. The Asgardian, whose skin looked rather greenish in the sunlight from Tony's point of view, was staring at him with an expression that looked a lot like thoughtful amusement. Almost wistfully, Tony wished that he could claw that look off that smug face.

“You must be wondering why you're still alive.” Loki sounded unnervingly calm, almost pleasant, like they were having a chat about this afternoon's weather. “I've decided that you have the potential to be useful to me, Stark. An asset, if you will. And I have no fear that you will go...what is it – yes, _ratting me out_ as you are right now.”

So he was kidnapped (dognapped?). Again. The realisation left a sour taste in his mouth, and he found his lips pulling back in an instinctive snarl.

Loki smiled, looking perversely pleased at the reaction he had obtained. “Regardless of your usefulness, I can hardly let you walk free knowing what you do, can I? That wouldn’t exactly be a strategic move on my part. Besides, it would seem that I'm currently your only hope of ever regaining your silly Midgardian form, so residing here would be in your best interests as well.”

Tony stiffened, narrowing his eyes. “What does that even mean? Can you change me back or not?” he demanded furiously, in a series of barks and growls that were incomprehensible even to himself.

Loki raised a very unimpressed brow. “If you're asking if I can revert you to your original form right now, then the answer is no. I wouldn't even if I could anyway. It seems to me that it would be rather entertaining to see you bumble around in this new form, and perhaps it’ll keep you out of trouble as well. But I must say, it is quite incomprehensible to me why Midgardians should hold such fondness for these beasts.”

So saying, the god reached out suddenly and Tony flinched, ears laying back against his skull. It took a moment to register that Loki was scratching at the thicker fur on the side of his neck, the pressure soft and steady in a way that helped to soothe his anxiety. The growl that had been building up in Tony's throat at the sudden contact ceased, his ears slowly pricking up again. He tilted his head up and whined, wishing the god would put a little more strength into his rubbing.

They stayed like that for at least half a minute, Tony's head angled so that his neck was bared to Loki, who had taken the cue and began to scratch firmly under his chin. The sensation was, for lack of a better word, heavenly.

_What. The. Hell._

It was like a switch had been flicked on in his brain. Tony reared back like a cobra had nipped at his nose, paws scrabbling for purchase, haunches actually raising halfway before the pain caught up with his brain and knocked him back down. Rolling gingerly back onto his side, he was torn between feeling sorry for himself and being filled with complete and utter disgust that Loki had been treating him like some sort of _pet_.

Loki had petted him, and he had _liked_ it. The very thought was horrifying enough to make him shudder.

The god was watching him with mild surprise on his face, the kind of surprise that immediately led to a whole lot of scheming and thinking. Tony didn't trust that look one bit.

“It would seem that some of the beast's mind is present within yours – a melding of your intellect and awareness with this creature's baser instincts.” Loki looked very intrigued indeed. “And _this_ is why I cannot yet transform you back into your regular form. Every transmutation happens at a different level; sometimes to wear the animal skin as a disguise is all that is needed, and other times sorcerers may make use of the animal's natural behaviour to navigate unfamiliar terrain.

“As it is, I have yet to familiarise myself with the depth of Amora's enchantment on you. If I attempt to reverse the spell now, you risk retaining part of the beast's mind even in your Midgardian form, or losing part of yourself – your personality, your basic functions, it could be anything – if I reverse it at too shallow or too deep a level. That you possess the form's natural instincts, however...this certainly goes deeper than I expected."

Tony felt a tremor of unease at the sight of Loki's frown. The resident big bad being stumped over a spell didn’t exactly bode well for him.

With a sigh, he lowered his head back to the ground, determined to look as resigned and miserable as possible. All the while, his mind was whirring with half-baked escape plans and ideas – surely Loki had to have a phone somewhere? Or if worst came to worst, he could just jump out of the window; he’d survived a fall from higher up after all.

After a moment, he realised that the god had actually been speaking to him, and one of his ears flicked in acknowledgment.

“…be able to move about more easily in a day or two. I drew upon some of your own life force to aid in healing the more lethal injuries you sustained, which accounts for your current depletion of energy.”

Lethal. Right. Well, he’d check how high up they were before jumping out of any windows then.

“I shall leave you then. You would do well to rest as much as possible right now. As for sustenance…” Loki paused, his tone oddly uncertain, and Tony rolled his eyes back up to watch the Asgardian.

Following a barely-perceptible twirl of his fingers, two dog bowls appeared about a foot away from Tony’s head. One was filled with water, while what looked like an entire roast chicken stuck out of the other.

“I am not well-versed in the rearing of animals, unfortunately,” Loki said, sounding apologetic, and Tony would have been insulted at being called an animal, but for the _chicken_. It smelled, well, like chicken, but the best-cooked, most fragrant chicken in the entire world. He could practically feel himself start drooling at the sheer deliciousness of the scent alone. Damn, animals had it good with their sense of smell.

Dragging himself forward, he ripped off one of the drumsticks easily and began chewing on it with gusto, holding it down with one of his paws. A small movement in the corner of his eye made him pause, and he turned to glare at Loki with the sudden, irrational suspicion that the god was here to nab his meal from him.

What he got was a couple of fingers rubbing comfortably into the back of his neck instead, smoothing out the short fur that had started to rise defensively. He took it with good grace for a few seconds, before going back to gnawing at the exposed chicken bone.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted hearing Loki chuckle in a most uncharacteristic manner, but when he looked back up after polishing off half the chicken, the rogue Asgardian was nowhere to be found.

In the end, at some point while licking round his mouth and his oily paws with relish, Tony succumbed to fatigue and fell asleep as the shadows lengthened around him.

* * *

It was no difficulty to find out exactly what the other Avengers were making of one of their most prominent teammate’s disappearance. The television that transmitted current events (and other, more mindless drivel that Loki didn’t concern himself with) had a particular liking for the team of so-called ‘heroes’ and never missed a chance to educate everyone on their battles. This one was no different.

The noble Captain appeared onscreen to give a statement that Amora had been “successfully driven off”. However, Iron Man had “sustained serious injuries from the fall that some of you may have witnessed” during the course of the battle, and so would not be making any public appearances for some time.

One side of his mouth curled up in a smirk. So they were keeping the missing Avenger a secret for now, either to prevent a public panic and uproar, or to prevent others with ulterior motives from finding their very valuable teammate before they could.

It was too bad that they were too late.

He didn’t know if the site of the crash landing had been located, but he didn’t much care. Even if they managed to extrapolate Stark’s current form as a dog, it wouldn’t help them any further than that. No one was going to suspect a dead Asgardian, after all.

Satisfied with the bumbling incompetence of his opponents, Loki stood and left his room, ostensibly to use the bathroom, but also to ensure that Stark hadn’t managed to get up to any mischief in his absence. Even with the mortal’s injuries and lack of opposable thumbs, Loki wasn’t about to underestimate _him_ again.

He found Stark sprawled out in just about the same position as before, fast asleep, with a small pile of bones neatly pushed against the side of his food bowl. There was a puddle drying by the side of the other bowl, where the water had sloshed as the mortal had doubtless attempted to get accustomed to his new method of drinking.

It was curious that the device permanently lodged in Stark’s chest was nowhere to be found in this form. Such a crucial part of his body should have remained in place unless the transformation was almost absolute, something that the presence of the dog’s instincts substantiated.

Amora must have been very furious at Stark’s constant interference indeed, to have expended so much power in getting him out of the way all but permanently, without resorting to destroying him utterly. She had probably had the right idea that killing one of Thor’s friends was unlikely to endear her to him.

As he watched, Stark let out a soft snuffle, nose twitching in his sleep, completely oblivious to any danger Loki might pose to him.

Truthfully, beyond the mortal’s future use as a pawn, Loki hadn’t given much thought to what he was going to do with Stark until then. In this case, the animal’s instincts were likely to work in his favour; there was an abundance of Midgardian literature on the care of domesticated dogs, so surely it would be no hardship to figure out how to keep the former human occupied.

He was no fool, of course. Stark was unlikely to be content just to stay put as a hostage, but even he, with his innovative mind, would be hard-pressed to escape from a place so heavily warded. At worst, he would just have to confine the creature, with a silencing charm thrown in to boot.

If there was one thing Loki wouldn’t stand for, it was any disruption of his studies.

He had become accustomed to ignoring the discomfort of the geas imposed upon his being, but it was always there, damming up the flow of his magic so that only a trickle could pass through. What he currently had stored away was the result of millennia of experience, immense patience and hours of meditation. Nevertheless, freedom couldn’t come soon enough.

He still balked at the sheer _unfairness_ of it all. Had he not done a good job ruling in Odin’s stead while he slept? Had he not been kind with his words and just in his rulings? He had even been glad to relinquish the throne upon the All-Father’s awakening.

But no, “you have not yet fully paid the price for your crimes upon Midgard, and the very fact that you deceived Thor about your demise makes it impossible for me to trust you again.” And so the geas had been applied and he had been confined to his chambers like some sort of errant child.

He had escaped, of course. Odin had been a fool to think that Loki’s _own_ rooms were the best place in which to imprison him, and he would pay for that mistake in time.

With a last look at the sleeping mortal, Loki retreated to the bathroom before returning to his ongoing research and experiments.


	3. Bathtime

As it happened, Tony spent the next two days dozing on and off. When he wasn’t snoozing, he was eating like some sort of overfed hog. The cuisine was definitely the best thing about Hotel Crazy God; twice a day, some sort of meat or other would appear in his bowl as if on clockwork while the leftovers vanished neatly into thin air. The few meals he’d had so far ranged from fowl to suspicious-looking (but mouth-watering) internal organs. Once, a whole haunch of what he suspected to be wild boar was accompanied by a side of bananas, which seemed rather bizarre.

Did Loki even know what to feed dogs? Did they even have dogs on Asgard, or were all their wildlife slavering, raging wolf-monsters?

Whatever the case, he wasn’t about to complain. It also helped that he didn’t actually _see_ Loki in those two days, which meant that he didn’t have to beat himself up about sitting back and allowing himself to be imprisoned like that chick in King Kong. He could hear and smell Loki moving around in his room if he put his mind to it though, which was _fascinating_. It wasn’t every day that he could hear through walls.

Other than his attempts at sensory espionage, which yielded little other than the fact that Loki was basically an incredibly dull hermit, Tony was bored. The hours seemed to pass very tediously when he was awake, no matter how much he tried to daydream of overpowering a certain Asgardian and making a triumphant getaway, which might have explained why he ended up sleeping so much.

He missed JARVIS, and he had a feeling it said something about how pathetic he was that he missed having an AI to talk to.

Even _pooping_ proved to be a problem, like he wasn’t already humiliated enough. But permanently feeling like he’d been chloroformed to hell and back was leading to a fair number of unsavoury accidents right where he lay, and no matter how much he whined or barked, the stupid Asgardian simply _ignored him_. Probably pissing himself at the thought of Tony, well, doing exactly that.

If he hadn’t been feeling so lethargic, he would’ve hauled himself to his feet and proceeded to maul the bastard’s face right off.

The mess was always gone whenever he woke up though, so there was that, at least. But _why_ Reindeer Games was even bothering to sneak around during his naptimes was quite beyond him.

On day three, however, he awoke feeling tremendously refreshed, probably like Steve had felt directly post-serum. Sure, his ribs still ached like a bitch and he couldn’t stretch his legs too much for fear of reopening his wounds, but he felt full of energy and, oddly enough, happiness.

Standing, he indulged in a delicate full-body shake and slowly began to nose around the living room, forgoing his breakfast for once. The place was so sparse and clean that it looked almost like a showroom flat, but considering Loki seemed to practically live in his bedroom, Tony wasn’t really surprised.

Besides his bowls, the living room contained nothing but a three-seater couch, facing a wall upon which hung a painting of some generic jungle landscape. No phone in sight, which was a downer but not completely unexpected. He doubted Loki had anyone he wanted to call.

Directly adjoining was the dining room, with a dining table that looked as unused as the couch. There wasn’t much of anything in the kitchen either – either Loki didn’t have to eat, or he was summoning his own food with mojo the same way he did for Tony.

Passing the small entranceway leading to the front door, Tony paused, ears flicking back and forth indecisively. He trotted up to the nondescript white door and looked it over for a moment, then another.

There was no doorknob or handle. Figured.

Damn magic.

Nosing at the door made no difference, nor did shoving at it with his shoulder. Another route of escape was in order, at least until he saw some sign of how the door was opened and shut.

Moving on, he entered the bathroom, which at least showed signs of habitation. He nipped at one of the towels eagerly, already planning to leave a few holes in them as a parting gift, then left in a hurry after resisting the urge to guzzle a few gulps of water from the toilet bowl.

There was no door to Loki’s room but a short passageway instead, although he passed one on the right that was firmly shut. _That_ was something he’d have to investigate. Who knew what evil potion ingredients or literal skeletons in the closet were being hidden away?

Pausing at the entrance to Loki’s Batcave, he took a good look around. There wasn’t much to see here either – just a fair-sized bed against the corner; an out-of-place TV wedged in by the foot of the bed; another generic painting, this time of some castle; some sort of big flowering plant in a pot near the window; and a writing desk beside the pot where Loki was currently sitting with his back to Tony.

The area around the desk was a veritable mess compared to the rest of the apartment. Stacks of antique-looking books (the kind that honest-to-god looked like they would crumble into dust at the lightest touch) and loose sheets of paper were stacked haphazardly around on the floor, like some sort of shoddy intruder alarm setup. Diagrams of what looked like anatomy and some Disneyesque Tree of Life, as well pages full of notes in an enviable flowing script, were tacked up on the walls.

Definitely an evil magician lair.

Moseying his way carefully between precarious stacks of books and papers, Tony stopped beside one that clearly had a dog on its cover. He could make _that_ much out, even if his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be.

Well. Maybe Reindeer Games really _was_ trying to transform him back after all.

In this newly charitable state of mind, he made his way to Loki’s side, peering up curiously. The god was bent over, scribbling furiously and muttering to himself like a classic crazy scientist. He also looked decidedly more dishevelled than the last time Tony had seen him, as if he had been too busy to bother with little things like personal grooming.

He still smelled good though – a little minty, with a sharp, neutral crispness about him that reminded Tony of ice.

Tony stood there for a moment longer, but Loki continued to write like a man (or god) possessed, taking no notice of the dog wagging its tail slowly beside him. With an impatient huff, Tony shoved his nose against Loki’s elbow, earning a sharp curse when the involuntary jerk sent his pen skidding across the paper.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Loki snapped, finally turning to look at Tony with annoyance written all over his face.

_Um, hello, you’re keeping me here against my will, genius._

He settled for rolling his eyes as best he could, and grunted disdainfully.

Loki seemed to grasp his meaning all the same, because the same amusement as before flitted across his angular features.

“Found any means of leaving yet, Stark? I’m sure you’ll find one if you look long enough – or perhaps not.” His smile was hatefully mocking, and Tony settled for glaring at him in return, tempted to crunch down on those long fingers so temptingly within reach.

Glancing between his jottings and Tony, Loki sighed, sounding resigned. “Since you’re here, we might as well take a look at how well you’re healing. And you can cleanse yourself while we’re at it.”

Tony was in for a very unpleasant surprise when Loki stood, hooked his fingers between Tony’s collar and neck, and began to all but tug the dog out of the room. Tony yelped, paws scrambling as he tried to tug away from the uncomfortable pressure, but he might as well have been a Chihuahua for all the good his struggles did.

Loki only let go when they were finally in the bathroom, and Tony immediately wrenched away, backing towards the tub and growling low in his throat. Seriously, god or not, the next person who tried _that_ little trick was going to end up missing a finger or two.

“Stop that. Or do you want your wounds to fester?” It was thoroughly infuriating how Loki could make himself sound like the paradigm of reason mere seconds after dragging Tony along like some tantrum-throwing child. He would have followed of his own accord, thank you very much.

If he had been human, Tony would probably have already run his mouth and grumbled, “ _Yes_. Now leave me alone, you ass.” But having no effective way of protesting besides running away like a coward with his tail between his legs, he chose to take the sensible path instead.

In what was coming to be an uncomfortably familiar manoeuver, Loki rolled Tony over onto his back after unwrapping his ribs and belly, probing at the fur with nimble fingers. He couldn’t help jerking from the pain once or twice, but the god seemed satisfied enough at his rate of healing, and gave him a good, hard chin scratch for putting up with the examination.

“Go. Into the tub,” Loki ordered, giving Tony’s butt a push and ignoring the baleful stare directed back at him. Tony climbed in carefully anyway – at least he could brag that a god had given him a bath once he got back – circling a few times before looking over expectantly at Loki, who had switched on the shower and was currently fiddling with the temperature settings. It was actually kind of funny to see him act like some nitpicky dog owner.

And then he said, “Wait here,” and waltzed off back into his room, leaving the water running and putting paid to _that_ impression.

Tony stared after him, sneezed unconcernedly, and promptly began to splash about, enjoying the gentle patter of water against his back. He wondered if he was really expected to shower himself, and decided that Loki must be nine kinds of stupid if he actually thought that.

To his surprise, Loki returned less than a minute later with a bottle and a stool in his hand. Detaching the handheld showerhead from its holder, he sat down on the stool and simply looked at Tony for a good long while. Tony stared back at him, darting glances at the bright orange bottle, unsure what the god was up to this time.

“This is dog shampoo,” Loki said suddenly and rather uncannily, like he was reading Tony’s mind.

Tony really wished that he had eyebrows he could raise. He’d never realised how much he emoted with his eyebrows till now.

Springing out of inaction, Loki turned the shower on Tony, spraying determinedly till his fur was soaked through. For his part, Tony pretty much ignored whatever the god was trying to do and tried to blow bubbles in the shallow water collecting at the bottom of the tub, which was much harder than it sounded.

He only raised his head in evident surprise when what felt like a ton of cold gel was slapped on his back and Loki began to spread the shampoo all over. It was nice, like getting a full-body massage, albeit with a rather weak masseuse, and he stilled, allowing his eyes to slide shut in enjoyment.

It made sense to Tony that people with nice hands knew how to use them well, and to him right then, Loki had a definite future as a pet groomer if he decided to give up the whole villain act. There was a definite sting when the spray found his half-healed cuts, but he didn’t exactly want dried blood clumping his fur, so he lowered his head and tried to endure.

The gentle ear rubs before the water was shut off definitely made things better.

Stepping out of the tub, Tony shot Loki a look that could only be described as sly, before promptly spraying water droplets everywhere with the force of his full-body shake.

The expression of sheer shock on Loki’s face, accompanied by a bead of water dripping off the end of his nose, was _priceless_.

Tony huffed in triumph before stepping back prudently, in case the Asgardian was seized with a sudden urge to hit him, but Loki was…smiling at him. Not his asshole you-will-all-kneel before me sneer, but a genuine, actual smile of enjoyment that seemed to soften the harsh lines of his face.

Irrationally, it made Tony want to nuzzle at him, a thought that was much too disturbing to consider. Damn dog brain.

 _Murderer. Big fat unrepentant killer who is definitely not getting his just desserts because he broke out of jail_ , he reminded himself, but it was hard to growl at a smiling person.

“Ridiculous creature,” Loki muttered, that annoying smile still playing about his lips, and he grabbed a towel before reaching out to tug at Tony’s collar again. With a quick step to the left and a duck of his head, Tony dodged the incoming hand and immediately twisted back, catching Loki’s fingers in his jaws with a firm grip.

_Hah, got you there, sucker._

Both god and former man stilled and eyed each other, Loki with mild surprise and, much to Tony’s chagrin, the same lack of fear as before.

Then Loki reached out with his _other_ hand and pulled Tony closer by his collar anyway. Tony let go in surprise, then grumbled in annoyance, hoping that the teeth imprints he had surely left on the god’s hand stuck for a while. Next time, he was definitely going to bite down.

For the moment, he lowered his head slightly as he was towel-dried with suitably rough strokes reminiscent of a playful rubbing, although Loki was decidedly gentler when it came to dabbing at his aching chest and belly.

Once that was done, he gave another shake for good measure, then yawned and looked back up at Loki questioningly. It was pretty amazing how well he was adapting to the canine life, if he did say so himself. It was no hardship to have a great sense of smell and hearing, and he was pretty sure the colour red would probably come as a surprise to him once he was human again.

Cocking his head, he stared past Loki’s head, eyes widening at the sight of the mirror above the sink. Right, he didn’t even know what he looked like yet. It was a travesty for someone like Tony Stark.

Letting out a bark of excitement, he pranced in place for a moment before half-rearing up and planting his front paws squarely on the Asgardian’s thighs, all the while swinging his head in the direction of the mirror like a loon.

“C’mon, use your super alien strength and lift me up!” He whined when Loki caught his paws in his hands, looking momentarily baffled.

“What are you…ah, I see.” Loki’s expression cleared, and the amusement returned, although it seemed less mocking than before. “You wish to see what changes your form has undergone. Come on then, Stark.”

He didn’t hook his fingers into the collar this time, and Tony willingly followed the crazy criminal out of the bathroom and over to the secret closed door just outside the bedroom.

He backed away, placing himself firmly behind Loki’s legs with a betrayed stare. What was the god playing at? He just wanted to see what had become of his handsome face. There was no need to lock him in some devil’s dungeon for that.

“What is _wrong_ with you, you dull creature?” Loki gave him an annoyed nudge in the side with his calf, before swinging the door open to reveal –

A walk-in closet. Huh, talk about an anti-climax.

No corpses, no de-winged bats. Opposite the now-open doorway, however, there _was_ a full-length mirror covering an entire wall of the closet, and that was what Tony’s eyes were immediately drawn to. He took a few slow steps forward, and boy was it surreal to see a dog mimicking his every action.

Well, he was pretty handsome for a dog, that much he could discern. Fair-sized, not particularly big but no teacup-sized pooch either, with legs of decent length. He turned his head from side to side, peering at his large triangular ears, then sidled over to the side so he could observe his slender brush tail.

Not bad. Not bad at all, even if you counted the visible partings in his belly fur from where the tree had left its unfriendly calling card.

Leaning up close to the mirror, he peered at the collar sticking out of his short fur, but it looked completely ordinary. A little thicker than a regular collar, probably made of leather, but nothing more than that. Loki probably just liked to lord it over other people, even if they were temporarily dogs.

Of course, he couldn’t tell what the hell kind of fur colour he had, or if it clashed with his collar, but at least he knew what he looked like now, and that was a pretty damn good-looking mutt.

He turned back to look at Loki, still standing in the doorway looking more amused than ever, and wagged his tail hard.

“Are you quite done admiring yourself?” And there was that chuckle again, the one he had heard distantly while eating. It was the kind of sound someone made when they really wanted to laugh but had to hold back, except they couldn’t quite stop a small sound of mirth from escaping.

It was sincere, humanising and, because of that, frankly horrifying.

Tony quickly pushed past Loki, escaping from the closet and returning to his yet-untouched breakfast. Just because a guy could laugh didn’t mean he wasn’t batshit insane. Hell, there was probably an argument somewhere for crazy people laughing the most truthfully.

He’d have to look for a viable escape route stat, before living with Loki sent him round the bend too.

But first, breakfast. It had been laying out for a while, but it was still slightly warm as he dug in with gusto, probably because of some magic finger-waving. Nice.

* * *

Half the week was gone, and Tony was still missing.

They’d gone over it a thousand times already, till Thor, who’d been closest, and Clint, who’d seen the fall, were edgy with impatience.

“I saw little, merely the flash of magic before the Man of Iron disappeared from my sight. I assumed he had simply flown past and sustained some damage.” Thor was ever-earnest, but not particularly helpful.

Clint, on the other hand, was a little more informative. “I don’t know exactly what the magic shit did, but I definitely saw something fall out of the sky.” A contemplative pause, before he continued more decisively, “That something wasn’t the suit though. Way too small to even be a human. Maybe she swapped him out for something and he’s in the Bahamas laughing at all of us now.”

That something turned out to be a dog, after the location of impact was identified and SHIELD (and Bruce, but they didn’t need to know that) tested the leftover blood staining wood and leaf. Unfortunately, they didn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

“It _is_ possible that the Lady Amora could have transformed the Man of Iron into a dog,” Thor conceded reluctantly, “but Agent Barton’s theory is equally viable, and would sap less energy than an actual transmutation.”

“But that doesn’t explain the suit vanishing into thin air,” Bruce pointed out. “JARVIS’ sensors aren’t picking anything up – not even a trace of scrap metal. Besides, we all know that if Tony were capable, he’d have managed to contact us in _some_ way by now.”

“So we have to go with the assumption that Stark is currently a dog, and seriously injured from what we can tell,” Natasha concluded, exuding an aura of self-possessed calm that Bruce couldn’t help but envy. “So where is that dog now?”

Steve sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck in frustration. “ _That’s_ the question, but I’ve read SHIELD reports from a number of different agents, and they all agree that while there are signs that someone approached the area, they can’t find any trace of anyone _leaving_.”

“We could do a search of the nearby animal clinics,” Clint suggested. “See if any dogs with severe injuries have been brought in since then.”

“I’ve had JARVIS on that since yesterday,” Bruce admitted quietly, and the team fell silent.

“Perhaps,” Thor began hesitantly, “he has been taken hostage by a foe with the power of flight.”

All eyes immediately snapped towards the thunder god, and Bruce felt the beginnings of a tentative smile on his face. “Yeah, _yeah_ , why not? JARVIS, compile a list of opponents we’ve faced who can fly, or have unobtrusive modes of air transport, and their last known locations.”

“Right away, Doctor Banner.”

It wasn’t much, but at least it was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's see, so [this](http://img00.deviantart.net/a005/i/2015/194/8/1/takoda___full_body_28_by_livinja_stock-d913jrz.jpg) is dog!Tony, although [this](http://img12.deviantart.net/3071/i/2015/194/a/c/takoda___full_body_15_by_livinja_stock-d8xw429.jpg) is the picture that really decided me. Those eyes!  
> And [here](http://www.hh-apts.com/images/HH-1-bedroom-floor-plan.gif) is Loki's apartment layout, with his bed in the bottom right corner of the bedroom and his desk facing the window (with the TV wedged in the top right corner teehee).


	4. Walkies

Loki found it rather astounding just how many texts were devoted to the study of these animals called dogs – their history, behaviours, diet, care, anatomy, even the emotions of these creatures Midgardians called _animals_.

These dogs were clearly subservient to humans, with limited intelligence to speak of; what was the point in trying to understand them when they submitted so easily? It simply made no sense to him.

Of course, Stark was no dog at all, but aside from his mind, his needs were much the same as any other creature. Loki just hadn’t expected there to be so _many_. Exercise, mental stimulation, emotional needs.

Why in Odin’s name would anyone want to keep one around? They couldn’t be ridden like steeds, nor had they aesthetic value like the numerous songbirds of Asgard’s gardens. They were loud, messy, irksome creatures that served no purpose other than, supposedly, _companionship_.

He snorted. There was value in being alone that Midgardians clearly couldn’t appreciate. It was bad enough to be born with familial ties, and to go on to form friendships, but to attach sentiment to an _animal_.

Although he supposed he could see the appeal, even if somewhat distantly. Dogs seemed to have greatly affectionate natures, made all the more evident by Stark’s frequent swings between joy and hostility at his presence. It would be greatly disarming to one less weak-minded than he.

Ridiculous Midgardian companionship choices aside, Stark’s exercise needs were beginning to make themselves known in more ways than one. Barely seven days had passed, but the constant skittering of claws on tile and occasional frantic barks were already close to driving him mad.

Stark had thrown himself at the living room windows a few times, yelping when his half-healed ribs were jostled, but those seemed to be tentative escape attempts more than anything. Nevertheless, Loki couldn’t deny that his residence was rather bare, lacking anything the mortal could tinker or play with, and so he had flipped through a few dog care texts before conjuring up a small squeaky ball for the mortal, hoping it would keep him occupied.

He had been left alone for a few blessed hours of peace, but then Stark had darted into the room with the ball in his mouth and a hopeful look in those too-expressive brown eyes. Loki had tossed the ball out of the room and erected a transparent barrier in the entranceway the moment Stark’s tail whipped around the corner as he gave chase.

Foolish creature.

Stark had pawed and whined at the invisible barricade for a few minutes, even rising up on his hind legs to press his front paws uselessly against thin air, before slinking away in dejection, thankfully leaving Loki to return to his studies. He wasn’t making much progress, however – he hadn’t been lying when he’d told Stark that spell reversal was no simple matter, especially when the original spell had been cast by another sorcerer.

As far as he could tell, despite all the research he had been doing, there were only possible two ways he could rid himself of the geas. The first would be to fully understand the All-Father’s spell and unravel it completely, something that would likely take decades, if not centuries, of further analysis. The second involved flooding himself with so much magic that it broke through the obstruction the geas created.

A much more dangerous method, to be sure, but Loki had never been one to shy away from danger. The only issue now was locating an artefact that could and did hold that much power.

Unfortunately, the damned dog was _barking_ again, just standing in front of the invisible barrier and yapping incessantly.

With a sigh, Loki stood from his desk and turned to look at the noisy beast. Perhaps they could both benefit from some fresh air. With that thought, he vanished the barrier, although the stupid mortal clearly didn’t realise it with the way he was going on.

“Come here,” Loki said, and Stark immediately became quiet, with a comical expression of disbelief on his face. His ears swivelled back and forth before angling towards Loki.

“ _Come_ ,” Loki repeated with a put-upon sigh. He could have simply walked out of the room, but it was amusing to watch Stark’s uncertainty. The mortal stuck his nose forward, blinking at the lack of resistance, and immediately leaped forward, delight in every movement. He reared up once he reached Loki, who caught the dog’s paws in his hands automatically, unable to stop himself from smiling at Stark’s happy grin and casually lolling tongue.

“Silly creature.” It had become an all-too-familiar refrain over the past week, and Stark didn’t even bat an eyelid at the phrase. “I will be bringing you out today.”

_That_ was enough to get through to Stark, who seemed to stop breathing out of shock. He let go of the dog’s paws and crouched down so that they were eye-to-eye, holding the mortal’s gaze for a short while.

“Let me set down some ground rules. You will be leashed, of course, in accordance to the laws of your city,” he said silkily, enjoying the narrow-eyed glare Stark was beginning to fix on him. “You will not attempt to communicate your true identity to anyone – _if_ you even find yourself capable of doing so without coming across as rabid. And finally, you will not make any attempts to escape.”

The snort that Stark gave was supremely contemptuous, and Loki had no doubt that he meant something along the lines of, _As if you could stop me_.

The Allspeak worked only to translate complex communication systems with strictly defined definitions, which explained why colloquialisms remained indecipherable to, for instance, an Aesir on Midgard. In the case of lower life forms, on the other hand, there simply _was_ no concrete language to be translated, and all Loki understood from Stark’s frequent monologues were very vague impressions and desires.

Contempt was one such impression. Curiosity was another, as well as hunger and, more recently, boredom.

Hooking his fingers through the cherry red collar (an ironic tribute to Stark’s armour, if he did say so himself) the way he knew the mortal detested, he leaned in close. “It would be wise not to take my words lightly. If you think _this_ –” He gave a hard tug, and Stark stumbled forward with a whine. “– is mere decoration, think again.”

Then he gave Stark a firm scratch between the ears before standing again. “Now, off with you. Go and wait by the door.”

With another withering glance, the mortal stalked out, stiff-legged and bristling with wounded pride.

Loki grinned as he watched him go.

* * *

_Bastard_.

Tony plopped himself down by the door-without-a-handle with a disgruntled huff. Still, just the thought of getting out of the apartment, which had seemed to shrink by day, was enough to lift his spirits somewhat.

He’d been jittery and on edge for days, and had come very close to digging up the couch stuffing just for fun. In fact, he probably would have, just to spite his neglectful flatmate, but he’d taken to snoozing on that particular piece of furniture, and he hadn’t wanted to wreck the closest thing he had to a bed right now.

The fact remained that this was the closest chance he was going to get to escape, or at least put out a call for help, collar or no collar. The apartment was damn near impregnable, mostly because it contained pretty much _nothing_. No electronics besides the rather bizarre TV by Loki’s bed, no weapons that he could get his paws on (or wield, for that matter), seemingly shatter-proof windows, and of course a door with no handle.

The windows at least had been useful, providing him a view that assured him he was still ensconced somewhere in New York City, if not Manhattan itself. Even the nearby streets looked vaguely familiar, like he had been driven past them once or twice, or perhaps flown by.

He wasn’t sure exactly _how_ he was going to get the word out, with no hands and being effectively mute, but hey, Tony Stark always found a way. Maybe he could find a magazine with his chiselled face on it and carry it around. Maybe he would just create enough of a racket that people would recognise Loki and call the Avengers in.

The sound of approaching footsteps momentarily distracted him, and he leaped to his paws, practically panting in excitement that immediately diminished at the sight of Loki.

The Asgardian was dressed for the weather in a casual button-up and _denim shorts_ , of all things. It wasn’t that Tony was against skin exposure – hell, he was all for it – but Loki’s _knees_ were showing, and it was such a peculiar sight that he simply couldn’t register the fact for a moment. Topped off with a baseball cap set on his head, Loki couldn’t have looked less like a crazy alien Norse god if he’d tried.

So much for the recognition tactic.

“Ready?” The god quirked a sardonic smile down at Tony, and a simple leash appeared in his hand, already clipped to the collar.

Tony just stared up at the very un-Loki-like Loki before him, and almost missed the way a handle neatly appeared for the god’s hand when he reached towards the door.

Then his brain woke up again and _wow, fresh air. Breeze, sunlight, people, food!_ He rushed out of the apartment, circling back once to see Loki simply following at a leisurely pace like he didn’t have a care in the world. Behind the god, the door swung shut of its own accord with a soft click.

Down two flights of stairs, and it felt like the entire world was before him. A million different smells, many unidentifiable, and just as many different sounds all around him. Endless chattering, the rumble of car engines, birds chirping away somewhere nearby. He stopped, overwhelmed, as he looked around, taking in this strangely-coloured world that he had never been aware of.

Cool fingers rubbing behind his ears made him realise that his side was pressed up against Loki’s leg, and he carefully stepped away. The god made a soft sound of amusement, like a stilted snort, and tugged on the leash, leading Tony down the sidewalk.

It was a weekday afternoon, and there weren’t too many people walking around the way they were, but that didn’t stop the experience from being one of the Top Ten Weirdest Things Ever in Tony’s book.

For one thing, it was ridiculously hard to see anything when he was short as shit. Street signs, building names – almost everything called for some amazing feats of neck-craning if he wanted to get a good look at them. Not to mention the short-sightedness that was an even huger pain in the neck.

Even if he managed to run off now, he still wouldn’t have any idea where the hell he was, or which way to go. If he was unlucky, Loki would catch him within five minutes, weird magical collar notwithstanding; if he was even unluckier, he’d probably be snatched up and dumped in an animal shelter.

On the other hand, Loki walked with nice long strides, and it was particularly enjoyable to be able to trot alongside at a steady pace. The sun’s rays were warm on his fur too, calming him into drowsy contentment instead of the usual sleepiness that sunlight tended to induce when he was indoors.

After about a quarter of an hour, they entered a park, following one of its shaded trails seemingly at random. It was quieter here, even though Tony could sense the presence of a startling amount of wildlife, mostly up in the trees. Taking advantage of the slack in the leash, he began to wander around, dashing about in front and behind Loki according to whatever caught his attention next.

It was pretty amazing to be able to tell that a dog had peed on this particular tree not an hour before. Not very useful, but amazing all the same, and Tony made sure to pee right over that other dog’s leavings in a fit of spite.

For his part, the god was quiet, almost serene in spite of Tony’s wild bursts of energy all about. Tony didn’t know if it was the act of being close to nature, or just getting out and about that was soothing Loki, but it didn’t matter either way. It was easier to be happy when Loki wasn’t being a grump about everything.

Besides, maybe he would finally get so relaxed that he would let his guard down, and then it would be _bye-bye Tony_.

After a while, Loki seemed to find a park bench that he favoured for some reason or other, because he promptly decided to park his godly ass in that very spot. Whipping some ancient runic book out from literally nowhere, he settled down to read, leash held loosely in his half-clenched fist.

Tony remained standing, eyeing that deceptively loose grip critically and wondering if he should take the chance to make a break for it. But where would he go? If he couldn’t get word back to the other Avengers, there really was no point trying to run from someone who could teleport.

The dull twinge of his ribs reminded him that he wasn’t exactly in any condition to _run_ yet either.

With a sigh, he shuffled closer and settled back on his haunches, laying his head on Loki’s knees. Almost automatically, a hand reached out and began to scratch at the back of his neck absently, only pausing momentarily when a page had to be turned.

Maybe the mumbo-jumbo book Loki was reading was about how to transform dogs who used to be humans back into humans.

Positive thinking. Pepper would be proud.

Which again reminded him that getting _away_ from the maniac with his fingers nestled in Tony’s fur was the priority here, _not_ getting his itch scratched. With a discontented grumble, he pulled away, making Loki look up briefly.

Pressing his nose to the ground, he attempted a Fox and the Hound impression for a few minutes, snuffling around the bench, before giving it up as useless. Then he simply stood and looked up and down the quiet path; he could hear voices not too far away, but no one was in sight, which was probably one reason Loki had decided to sink his roots here.

Where was the Widow when you needed her? Wasn’t SHIELD supposed to have eyes everywhere? _Especially_ in quiet areas of the park where a dognapped superhero might be in need of help at any time.

He was going to have a great time needling Fury about inefficiency when he saw the one-eyed pirate again.

The next second, his attention was seized by the sound of approaching pawsteps (and footsteps, but he didn’t find that particularly important at the moment). His entire body stiffened, muscles quivering in anticipation, ears swivelling and pricking in the direction of the new sounds.

Again, Loki looked up from his book, noticing Tony’s alert stance. “Stark?” The single word was uttered mildly, tone questioning. Tony merely looked back over at the god, blinked, and returned his attention to the bend in the path just as two figures appeared, one man and one dog.

The man was clearly in jogging gear, and no stranger to exercise judging by the pace at which he was going. Tony walked further out onto the path, tail wagging slowly as he watched the approaching pair, but the leash suddenly went taut, preventing him from going any further.

To Tony’s surprise, the man actually slowed as he passed, although he kept a tight hold on his own dog as well, a placid-looking Labrador. “Hey man, is your dog friendly?” the man called over to Loki, gesturing at Tony.

Tony glanced back at Loki, who had completely set down his book by now. “Yes,” he said slowly, meeting Tony’s gaze even as his hand lifted to brush the rim of his cap in what looked to be an unconscious gesture of unease. “He is approachable.” His voice was completely even, but Tony got the feeling that the god was feeling incredibly uncomfortable with the entire situation.

Well, too bad for him.

Tony lowered his head as the Lab approached, sniffing at her face with interest. She was slightly smaller than him, but stockier around the shoulders in a way that made him suspect she could knock him over with a good charge. She was friendly enough though, but he decided to draw the line when she began to circle around to smell his butt. Sure, it was _tempting_ , but he had some self-control, thank you very much.

As they played around a little in what limited space there was, Tony made sure to keep half his attention on the conversation the other man had started, because out-of-his-depth Loki was something he definitely wanted to relish.

“That’s a nice spot you have here. Real quiet around this time of day.” The man grinned, occasionally switching his attention between the dogs and Loki. He was loud and almost annoyingly upbeat, punctuating his sentences with large gestures.

All the same, the guy seemed fairly alert for a civilian. Not in a way that meant he was currently sensing danger, but something about his goody-two-shoes responsible manner made Tony feel that he was always on the lookout for possible trouble. It reminded him a lot of Cap, in fact. Maybe he was ex-military.

Maybe he was even from SHIELD. But nah, that would probably be too much to hope for.

“Indeed. Do you take this path often?” Loki returned politely.

“Yeah, when I take Rosa out for a run I do.” The man shrugged. “My usual jogging route’s different, but I help out at this place for veterans. PTSD and all that, you know? This girl’s one of the service dogs; they’re really great – cheer those boys up, help them get in touch with their emotions again and everything.”

Tony wanted to laugh. He doubted Loki had understood half of what the guy had just said.

But the man just continued, all smiles, “And your boy? He’s a handsome one. Mixed breed?”

“Uh.” Loki hesitated. “Yes, he is of mixed origins.” And then he pasted a stiff little smile on his face that honestly looked quite pitiful.

“That’s great!” The man looked genuinely delighted. “We’ve got two mutts back at the centre; they’re real handfuls, but also real sweet-natured. Crowd pleasers, the lot of them. Anyway, gotta get going if I want to get Rosa back in time for the next session. Maybe I’ll see you around again soon.”

And off he went, not even waiting for Loki’s nod of acknowledgment. The god looked slightly taken aback by the entire encounter, like this was the first interaction with a human he’d had since becoming a fugitive on Earth. In fact, it probably was.

"Mortals," Loki muttered, as they watched the man and his dog disappear from sight. He sounded brooding rather than scornful, like he couldn't believe he'd actually just had a civil conversation with one.

_Only just realising we're not quite on the same level as creepy-crawlies then?_ Tony thought dryly.

“Come, Stark. We should return,” the god said suddenly, turning his attention back to Tony and extending a hand to him. The gesture made him look oddly lost, like some kid reaching out to his parents for comfort.

Slightly subdued, Tony walked back over, pushing his nose against Loki’s outstretched hand. It was shaking ever so slightly, and he enclosed it softly in between his teeth, not knowing what else to do. He didn’t even know what had gotten Loki’s panties all in a twist.

The god made no attempt to free himself, instead scratching roughly under Tony’s chin with his free hand. With every movement of his head, he could feel the delicate bones of Loki's hand shift in his grip.

"I suppose you all hate me," Loki said quietly, out of the blue.

_Well, yeah. You killed a bunch of people and tried to take over the world, and you didn't even serve time for it._

But he had also saved Thor's life, according to the thunder god, even if he wasn't quite as deceased as they had all believed. Tony really wasn't sure what to think of Loki at all – most of the time, he didn't seem like the same guy from the Chitauri invasion, but it didn't change the fact that he'd _done it_.

So he just blinked back as a non-response, glad for once that he couldn't speak, and Loki looked past him with faraway eyes. The silence between them was uncommonly peaceful, their little area of the trail feeling almost secluded from the rest of the world even though it was clearly still in earshot.

Finally, the moment passed and Loki stood up, and they returned to his apartment the same way they had come.


	5. Assimilation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind kudos and comments and general readership! I really wasn't sure how this would be received since honestly it's kind of a series of vignettes that just happen to have an overarching plot, rather than those multi-chap epics that I aspire to write. But anyway, onward (and enjoy dog! Tony while it (he) lasts)!

They fell into a routine of sorts after that. Tony would still have to entertain himself for most of the day, batting his squeaky ball about or gnawing ferociously on a bone-shaped chew toy that had mysteriously appeared in the living room one day. Occasionally, he would venture into Loki’s room, but more often than not he was shooed out and that infuriating, invisible force field would keep him from re-entering.

But every afternoon without fail Loki would emerge, Tony would charge over, and they would both set out on their daily walk. Sometimes they roamed the streets, meandering aimlessly about while Tony tried desperately to figure out where exactly where they were – turned out there were downsides to being chauffeured around everywhere after all.

At times like these, Tony remembered that he _really_ missed JARVIS and his GPS function – but also just JARVIS in general. The poor guy was probably worried sick about him, as much as his programming would allow.

Most of the time, however, Loki seemed to enjoy their walks in the park the most. He brought them down a different trail each time, just walking until he found the Perfect Bench and sat down to read. Sometimes, that didn’t happen and they ended up doubling back and going down a different path until the search was concluded.

As Loki read, Tony would doze, sometimes with his head in Loki’s lap, sometimes laying with his paws slung over the god’s loafers, until it was time to go.

A god in loafers. The very idea still made him snicker, let alone the sight of it.

In the back of his mind, he still thought about the Avengers. He knew that his team was out there, and Pepper and Rhodey and his company, and he worried for them. He missed them all; he missed driving them up the wall all the time and the way their little band of misfits still managed to work seamlessly together in battle anyway.

But he was cut off from them – no news, no sightings, no way of making himself heard. He hadn’t found a viable way to escape, and the fact remained that Loki was still his only hope of ever reversing Amora’s witchcraft. Besides, it wasn’t like the god had really done anything _bad_ yet.

 _Excuses, all of them._ He was, at least, cognizant enough to know this.

But another week passed, and then another, and his unhappiness about everything made less and less sense every time the sun rose and set.

On one level, he was aware that he was in _huge_ trouble. Like, the deepest shithole he had ever been in, even counting the Ten Rings, because he was _enjoying_ being Loki’s dog. He liked Loki, and he wanted to be around the god and receive scratches and treats; at the same time, he also didn’t trust Loki as far as he could throw him, which was to say not at all, and he very, very much wanted to be human again and out of this stupid parody of captivity.

He didn’t know what his sudden development of some twisted form of bipolar disorder meant, but he wasn’t a genius for nothing; he could make an educated guess, and chances were that that guess would turn out to be right.

Unfortunately, the very unpleasant conclusion he had reached was that his dog brain, animal instincts and all, was beginning to overpower his human brain.

He had no idea what that meant for him. The _real_ him – Tony Stark the human. Iron Man, Avenger, inventor, billionaire. The smart, witty one; the one who could actually _talk_. Right now, he was still here; he still knew who he was and he was calling the shots. He wasn’t just an extraordinarily smart mutt who could do tricks.

What he didn’t know was how long that would last.

Tony slept badly the night he finally sat down after dinner and proceeded to puzzle it all out, laying his conclusions out in the open one by one. He jerked awake sometime around three in the morning, hackles standing on end, still panting from unnamed fears and nightmares he could no longer recall.

He scrambled off the couch and over to his water bowl, gulping down a few mouthfuls messily. It was dark, but his night vision was better than before, and after three weeks he pretty much had the lay of the land stuck in his head already. His nails clicked on the flooring, echoing in the quiet as he passed the bathroom and made his way to Loki’s room.

He was so preoccupied with his own agitation that it took him longer than it should have to pick up on the irregularities in the god’s breathing. He was only just passing the mirrored walk-in closet, but the rapid gasps and the elevated heartrate of the only person in the bedroom ahead were unmistakable to his sharp ears.

Anxiety seized him, in the way fear was so often ‘catching,’ and he picked up his pace, only to bash his sensitive nose hard against thin air. He lurched back, moaning softly, dabbing at his throbbing nose with useless paws.

Damn _magic_.

It did make sense that Loki would ward his most private space, especially at night, but Tony had never been awake at this time to find out as much before. What was he even afraid of? That Tony would sneak in in the middle of the night and rip his throat out?

Which wasn’t a bad idea, honestly. He kind of wished he had thought of it himself, and earlier.

But right now, he was afraid, filled with his own terror, but also an overpowering fear for Loki. What was the Asgardian doing in the room to make him sound like he was being _strangled_?

Most of the bed wasn’t visible from Tony’s vantage point, only Loki’s bare feet, tangled in the sheets in an unpromising way. He could hear the god’s breathing quickening, in a way that made his own heart start to pound, and he began to bark, pushing frantically at the force field with his shoulder and pacing pointlessly back and forth, unable to keep his paws still.

He barked again, then twice more, and finally all sound from the room ceased, leaving Tony with a deep sense of disquiet.

“ _Hello_? Anyone there? You dead, Reindeer Games?” It had been a long while since he had made any attempt to speak – not since the first days of his transformation, in fact – but he did it now. It was all nervous growls and whines, but the intended sarcasm made him feel better, hid a little of his alarm behind his usual flippancy.

Then what little he could see of Loki’s legs swung over the side of the bed into a sitting position, and the barrier he had been leaning against abruptly vanished. He tripped over nothing, pitching forward inelegantly into the room with a surprised yelp.

Twisting around, he crossed over to Loki in a single bound, rearing up and planting his paws on the god’s thighs without hesitation. Loki was sitting silently, breathing deeply in a practiced way, eyes fixed on Tony with an unsettling lack of emotion. It was hard for him to tell if Loki was paler than usual, but the strong, acrid scent of something that he eventually identified as _fear_ was distinct enough.

Nightmares were a right bitch. Tony could attest to that.

With a soft whine of empathy, he pushed his face closer to Loki’s, sniffing anxiously for any lingering signs of distress. There was no protest, so he carefully gave Loki’s cheek a quick lick, tasting the faint saltiness of cold sweat that had dried on his skin.

At last, the god seemed to stir, and he sighed, a long, shaky exhalation. “Stark.” Just a single word as his arms rose to brush across Tony’s back, then settled into long strokes along his sides. Tony relaxed, front paws thumping back down to the floor. The hands shifted to his favourite spot behind his ears, and he closed his eyes contentedly, his own fear melting away.

When Loki lay back down on the bed, he shifted closer to the wall, leaving an empty space upon which he patted his hand a few times. “Come,” he said quietly, and Tony huffed.

_Always with the commands._

But he leaped up anyway, circling a few times before nesting down on the sheets with his side pressed to Loki’s chest. They were both motionless for a few seconds, and then Loki laid a tentative hand over Tony’s back, and they both fell asleep.

* * *

Learning to live with Stark felt a lot like starting a new life altogether. The mortal’s presence had all but turned his whole life on Midgard upside down, but he found himself hard-pressed to summon up displeasure at that thought.

New routines were established with startling swiftness. No longer could he lose himself in his studies for weeks on end, what with Stark’s frankly excessive exercise requirements. It was also easier to remember to feed himself when he had someone else to provide for as well.

Perhaps the change he felt most keenly was the fact that his past memories seemed to recede in the presence of the mortal each night. There were still times when he awoke in the grip of sheer terror, not knowing who or where he was, but Stark was always there, either already pressing a cool, damp nose intrusively against his face, or simply a calming, unconscious presence beside him.

He should have felt humiliated to have had his moment of weakness witnessed in such a way, should have been furious enough to strike the hapless mortal down right where he stood that first night.

Instead, he had felt perversely _grateful_ for Stark’s presence. The wordless concern radiating from those nut-brown eyes had been more comforting than any utterance. Nor had there been any Aesir-like shape to raise his defences and rouse his ire.

It made no sense, even to himself. He knew very well that this dog-shaped being was simply Stark clothed in fur, the same insufferable mortal who had contributed so spectacularly to his inglorious defeat on his first armed expedition to Midgard.

And yet that very fact was strangely easy to overlook whenever the mortal approached him with shining eyes and swishing tail.

Perhaps it was because he could see that the final effects of Amora’s enchantment were now beginning to take place. After prolonged coexistence as separate parts of a single being, the dog mind was finally doing its utmost to integrate itself with Stark’s Midgardian consciousness.

This…concerned Loki, although for what reason he had yet to understand himself. After all, Stark would remain the same individual he had always been – insolent, proud, _stupidly_ brave. The melding would merely _augment_ him – with the dog’s temperament, surely he would be happier than he had ever been. He would be able to find joy in simpler things, even as his intellect and drive remained undiminished.

There would be no loss, not for either of them.

With that thought in mind, he ruthlessly crushed every ounce of doubt that continued to rise in him as the days trickled by. This notion of imprisonment was no longer even the barest façade; Stark remained because he _wanted_ to, and Loki knew that he could be a benevolent god in turn.

But something in him also knew that this could not last forever. As much as he (and this he was loathe to admit, even to himself) enjoyed having the mortal around, he had greater things to achieve that were made impossible by the constant disruption Stark’s presence caused. Eventually, he would reach the root of Amora’s spell and pull it apart; Stark would return to his own life with his own companions and his motley team of Avengers, while Loki would be left to his own devices the way he had been, and the way he wanted.

No matter that he had scarcely began to trace deeper into the enchantment binding Stark’s form. He could hardly be blamed when the mortal was already taking up so _much_ of his valuable time.

He shot an accusatory glance over to where Stark was lazing indolently upon his bed, but he was soundly ignored. _Impertinent beast._

He had a good view of the dog’s underbelly from his seat, and the resulting scars where fur was slowly beginning to grow back white instead of cream, the skin beneath still vividly pink. Leaving his desk, he moved to take a seat on the bed beside Stark, reaching out to rub almost curiously at the downy new fur.

Stark seemed to like it; he stretched, paws batting at the air, and opened an eye lazily to peer at Loki. When he slowed his motions, making to stand and return to his studies, the mortal whined pitifully until he couldn’t help but return and continue rubbing dutifully until Stark expressed his satisfaction. Like Loki was some _servant_ idling by awaiting his command.

“I am a _god_ ,” he said quietly, flicking Stark lightly under the chin, “not your manservant. Try not to forget that, you vile creature.”

Stark snorted, and Loki smiled.

* * *

From day one of Tony’s disappearance, they had always known that the team wouldn’t be the same until he was found. Something in their dynamics had shifted in a way they could all sense but couldn’t say out loud. Simply being in the Avengers Tower without its owner drifting around with a glass of whiskey in hand, shooting snarky quips at everyone, left them all unsettled and subdued.

But it only really, _truly_ sunk in after their first major battle without Iron Man.

He had always found it annoying, but Steve was beginning to wish that he had Tony babbling on over the comms about something completely irrelevant to the situation. Suddenly, the lines were filled with either terse orders and acknowledgments, or an equally terse silence.

It didn’t help that Thor was the only one in the air now, his unique perspective affording him information about attack strength and direction that even Hawkeye could not provide. Unfortunately, Thor was usually too busy giving his all in battle to communicate this information to the rest of the team, and the streets had been deemed too narrow for the Quinjet to be brought out.

Steve felt blind on the ground, taking opponents as they came without a sense of what to expect. Even in war, they’d had scouts who reported back about estimated enemy numbers and weapons. Right now, they had no strategy, no contingency plans, nothing.

Without Iron Man, they had no JARVIS either, who could analyse patterns and identify weaknesses in record time. All they had to rely on were their own instincts and reflexes.

Raising his shield just in time to avoid getting his face singed off by the robotic creature charging towards him, Steve rolled to the side and smashed it straight in the face, crumpling its permanently-glaring features. With a sharp crackle, it tumbled to the ground, still fizzing like a soda.

 _Finally_.

“Destroy the heads,” he said sharply, raising his hand to his earpiece. “There’s something in there that shuts them down. I don’t know, just smash them somehow.” He dodged another blow and paused to catch his breath.

As if in response, a distant roar could be heard. “HULK SMASH!”

Steve grinned, and the next moment, something hit him hard in the back and he flew straight _through_ a parked car on the side of the road.

That was another thing he missed about Tony. Iron Man could deliver incredibly hard hits, but he also tended to swoop around helping to deflect milder blows that JARVIS could predict and the other Avengers didn’t see coming – like the robot that had just smacked him halfway to the next building. It was something everyone liked to claim was superfluous, but clearly Steve for one had just been proven wrong.

Tony’s absence had left a huge gap, not only in their team but in their morale and efficiency, and they were only just realising what was meant by _huge_.

They finished that battle victorious, but only by the skin of their teeth, coming out relatively unscathed considering the various minor disasters that had occurred throughout.

Steve felt more battered than he’d had in months, and as he looked around at the team, he couldn’t help but feel that they looked like a much sorrier lot than anyone would have expected of the famed Avengers. There was silence all around, all of them thinking of the exact same thing but no one wanting to be the first to say it out loud.

Their hope over the few initial leads JARVIS had dredged up for them had gradually petered out to nothing as each potential culprit slid neatly off the hook, whether it was with an iron-clad alibi or a simple case of not being in the country in the first place. They were at a genuine loss, even with Barton and Natasha calling in every shady contact they knew.

SHIELD was of little help. Steve had lost his cool and blown up at Fury once when the Director had asked about Tony’s tech and suits with a careful nonchalance that belied his true interest. In the face of Captain America’s righteous anger, even Fury had eventually cracked and confessed that the search for Tony had been all but called off after three weeks.

“Hate to tell you this, Rogers, but I can’t be sending men out willy-nilly chasing down every lead. I have a budget and time constraints and the World Security Council breathing down my back about putting too much resources into one missing man.” He frowned. “Of course, they’re full of shit, but I’m sure you can see that my hands are tied. I’m sorry. I hope Stark is found soon.”

And Steve had deflated. When even Fury began offering his condolences, everyone knew that the situation had jumped right from bad to completely hopeless.

They didn’t stop searching, not by any means, but when the one-month mark passed, it all stopped feeling like looking for a needle in a haystack. They could’ve found a hundred needles in a hundred haystacks by now. Rather, Steve thought that a more appropriate analogy would be that they were floundering around treading water in the middle of the ocean, in the middle of a storm, while looking for land, trying not to drown, and avoiding man-eating sharks all at the same time.

Four weeks turned into five, and five into six. Even the public was beginning to get suspicious, with all sorts of wild theories flying about – that Tony had died of his injuries, that he had decided to move to Asgard, that he was disfigured and too ashamed to show his face, that he had been kidnapped by aliens.

And of course the uncomfortably accurate speculation that the Avengers simply didn’t know where Tony Stark was and were lying their asses off trying to cover that little fact up.

Things at the Tower got frostier and frostier, and it wasn’t difficult to tell that everyone was inching closer to that final breaking point.

Of course, that was when Amora decided to reappear.


	6. Reversal

The first time Loki had woken Tony the at the unearthly hour of _seven_ in the morning for a walk, Tony had grouched the whole way to the park until he had been informed that dogs were allowed to be off-leash till the clock struck nine, and did he want to spend his time moping or having fun?

It had been _exhilarating_ to run flat-out across the grass with the breeze in his fur and the soil firm beneath his paws. Loki had even thought to bring along the squeaky ball, and had spent some time throwing it for Tony to fetch before sitting down to read. Not that Tony really minded – the god had an unexpectedly weak throw considering his alien strength.

About half an hour in, the man with the Lab they had met on their first walk had passed by again, this time with the two cross-breeds he had mentioned before. The three of them had gambolled about in stilted games of ‘catch me if you can’ while Loki again attempted conversation with the smiling man about the benefits of therapy dogs.

But again, the conversation with the man, who had introduced himself as “Sam, Sam Wilson,” seemed to leave Loki in a more pensive mood than usual, and Tony had made sure to stick close to him on the way home. This earned him a long ear rub, which he accepted calmly as his due.

Exactly a week later, he had been woken at seven again for another off-leash run, and realised that this marked the beginning of a new routine, one that he certainly had no complaints about.

After another bout of lacklustre ball-throwing from Loki, Tony had left the god to his reading, prancing about on his own until sudden movement in the corner of his eye made him freeze.

A squirrel, nibbling contentedly at a nut at the bottom of a not-too-distant tree, fur dappled with morning sunlight streaming through the leaves.

Lowering himself to the ground, Tony crept forward pawstep by pawstep, eyes fixed on the clueless squirrel.

Or not so clueless, because he hadn’t gone more than three steps before it darted away, not for cover, but right across the wide open field. Tony leaped up and was after it before he could even think his actions through. He wasn’t going to _kill_ it, that was for certain; he would just catch it and, well, release it or something.

But he _really_ wanted to catch that squirrel. Just because he could.

He dashed after the fleeing animal, feeling like he was practically flying – and he was one of the few who could actually make a _legitimate_ comparison, so there – as the ground receded beneath him.

And then he heard Loki’s voice, loud and full of sheer panic. “ _Stark_!”

His steps faltered, although he was still going at a good pace, and he half-turned his head to look back at the Asgardian he’d left behind. He caught a glimpse of Loki, jumping to his feet with his hand outstretched like he could pull Tony back by sheer force of will, and then his collar twinged and –

 _His insides were being ripped open and pain pain pain something sharp digging deeper_ –

Then it was over and he found himself lying dazedly on the grass, with a horrible wheezing, rasping moan coming from somewhere, and after a while he realised that that somewhere was his mouth. Loki was leaning over him and _hey, wasn’t this a familiar sight_.

But it wasn’t exactly the same either, because this Loki looked almost sick with fear as he bent over Tony, and it was kind of reassuring to have his person so close by.

Gradually, he realised that Loki was speaking to him because his mouth was moving, his long fingers buried in the fur of Tony’s chest, and he tried to focus even though his ears were still ringing and he could barely catch his breath from the sense-memory of that terrible _agony_.

“…so sorry. Stark? Stark.” A light shake, and he blinked, letting out a soft huff of acknowledgment, and something in Loki’s expression seemed to crumple even as he made an effort to draw himself back together. “I apologise, I never meant – it just slipped my mind because you never – I apologise. It won’t happen again; I’ve removed the spell and I just – I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

 _Oh, the collar. Right._ Well, he basically hadn’t given it a second thought after that first walk either.

With a roll of his eyes, he made a concerted effort to reach over and snap up Loki’s nearest hand in his jaws, pressing down in their now-familiar gesture, just hard enough to leave faint white indents in the skin when he let go. It had a myriad of different meanings depending on the day and his mood – sometimes a reproof, sometimes a way to comfort.

This one meant, _It’s cool, we’re good. Stop looking like a kicked puppy_.

He let go when Loki smiled, but the god still looked more hesitant than he had any right to be, so Tony gave a low bark of annoyance that he knew would be understood perfectly.

_But that hurt, you asshole!_

Sure enough, the familiar sneer returned instantly. “What a weak creature you are, Stark. I should have known better than to expect anything more from a Midgardian ‘hero’.”

But the god remained seated on the ground beside Tony until he felt up to moving again, the phantom echoes of pain prickling inside him when he least expected it. And even then, their journey home was so patronisingly slow that he was straining at the leash all the way to the front door.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of contentment, where Loki decided to devote more time to belly rubs than was usual, and Tony wasn’t above milking the guilt card for all it was worth.

Naturally, it only made sense that everything fell apart the very next day.

* * *

He started the day feeling anxious, just a quiet sensation that wouldn't stop pricking at the back of his neck and refused to let him concentrate on his current research.

It wasn't because of Stark; the guilt he felt about the mortal was of a completely different ilk. This feeling seemed to be a warning of things to come, but of what things, he knew not.

Stark appeared by his side like a wraith, perceptive as always, and merely looked at Loki with a questioning gaze. He shook his head dismissively, scratched the mortal behind the ears, and tried to return to his reading.

With a yawn, Stark left the room, and after a moment he could hear the distinctive squeaks of the mortal's favourite toy being tossed about.

 _Sentiment_. Something he was beginning to develop the longer Stark stayed. He still remembered the all-consuming fear he had felt when he realised that the fool had raced off after some small animal, and would soon step right past the boundaries he'd set on the collar.

He hadn't been able to stop the fearful cry that had erupted from his throat, but it had been too little, too late. Seeing Stark fall and thrash about on the ground, a thin wail of agony emitting from his throat – Loki hadn't felt so helpless, so full of _guilt_ , since the All-Father had collapsed before his very eyes.

The spell itself was quite harmless, intended to induce the experience of being savagely disembowelled without any real damage to the physical body. It was simply meant to incapacitate temporarily, but it had been as if all his eons of knowledge had deserted him in that single moment, and he had been so sure that Stark lay dead at his hand.

But the mortal was still very much alive and his fears had been groundless, and so all of his musings on the subject were equally pointless.

He began to write furiously, cross-referencing the various texts scattered about him, forcing his mind to remain focused. What he _needed_ was his magic; until then, nothing else mattered.

He would reverse Stark's transformation soon and send him off, but only after swearing him to secrecy on pain of death. And then he would be able to devote all his time to undoing the geas at last, the way he should have been doing all this while.

He just had to find the time to inspect Amora's spell more closely.

He continued in this vein of vague unease until mid-afternoon came, bringing with it Stark and a reminder that it was past time for their daily walk.

Being in the park did nothing to soothe his growing concern that something was very wrong, and he kept Stark close despite the mortal's obvious displeasure at the short leash. The pinpricks on the back of his neck intensified, almost like he was sensing the use of magic nearby, but very faintly.

Or perhaps the geas was interfering with his ability to sense the power other sorcerers wielded.

Now that he was aware of the magical origin of his discomfort, however, it was easier to focus upon it. He walked along mindlessly, dissecting the tendrils and searching for any sign of hostile intentions – but there was little power invested in this kind of scouting magic. It was typically only used to trace the whereabouts of an object a sorcerer had bespelled, by searching for the unique traces each individual's magic left behind.

Then he looked down and Stark and _realised_.

Again, he was too late, because the next second, Amora appeared before them on the trail, a pleased smile on her lips.

“So there you –” She broke off abruptly, seeming to notice Loki's presence for the first time. Her mouth rounded in an ‘o’ of surprise, before twisting into a sly smile.

“Amora,” he said coolly, before she could speak any further. Beside him, he could feel Stark bristling in silent anger.

“Well, I'm glad to see that rumours of your death have been grossly exaggerated as usual,” the Enchantress cooed, stepping closer, “although I must say I _am_ surprised that you've taken up with this foul creature.” Her lip twisted as she laid eyes on Stark, utter disgust transforming features that could have been attractive into something bordering on repulsive.

“What do you want? Speak,” he said, perhaps more harshly than he should have. Amora's eyes widened in surprise at his tone, but he was in no mood for her petty games.

“Very well,” she sniffed haughtily. “Thor has charged me with locating his lost companion, and since I have done so, I will now be retrieving him.”

A low growl began to sound from Stark's throat, interrupting the dreamy expression that was beginning to form upon Amora's face. Loki almost laughed; what an imbecile, to spend her days pining after Thor when all she lusted for was the thunder god’s brute power, subjugated beneath her.

Instead, he sneered, pulling the reserves of his power up to the surface of his being and allowing the hum to permeate the air in a clear threat. “You have located Stark, and so your duty is done,” he said curtly. “Return and report to Thor like the snivelling wretch you are, but Stark is _my_ servant now, and I suggest you do not try to take him from me.”

Amora's eyes narrowed, and he held his breath. He had never been more conscious of the weak trails of magic seeping through his body, but he had always been stronger than the Enchantress, more accomplished in every way. He was gambling everything on the fear he struck into her very being, wagering that his bluff would not be called.

And then she laughed, and laughed some more until tears of mirth threatened to spill from the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Loki, who do you think you fool?” she cried, and he stiffened, ready for battle, as futile as it would prove. “I can see that you keep the mortal as a _friend_ , not a slave, not a tool. You have grown weak, Loki, weighed down by your attachments. But I am here to help, if only you will accept it.”

She smiled across at him, eyes glowing, and in an instant he _knew_. Knew exactly how she had crafted her spell, in wrath and in passion, the way she had twisted the mortal's fragile being, locked him into a body not his own, with another mind as good as alien.

And with that knowledge of how the enchantment had been cast, he knew exactly how to undo it as well.

“Be well, Liesmith,” she called mockingly, and with a last cutting smile, she vanished.

Still stunned by the new information flooding his mind, Loki looked down at Stark blankly. The fur all along the ridge of his back was standing straight up, his legs spread wide, head lowered and formidable teeth bared in a silent snarl. He looked ready for battle, gloriously and beautifully so.

Suddenly weary, Loki sank to his knees beside the still-stiff mortal, running his hands along Stark's back and down his legs. “All is well,” he murmured, and something warm bloomed in his chest when he felt the locked muscles give way at the sound of his voice. “Let's return home.”

Then Stark, _his_ Stark was back, pushing his nose everywhere, sniffing in obvious concern, drawing Loki's hand into his mouth and clamping down on it in a way that felt nothing but reassuring.

“Amora is gone. She will not take you.” Simply saying the words made him feel better, but Stark released his hand and took a step back, staring deep into Loki's eyes like he was searching for something.

Whether he found it or not, the mortal turned away first, and Loki stood so they could return home. They were halfway there when he realised (stupidly, slowly) that Amora would have taken Stark, yes, but she would have _returned him to the Avengers_ , his comrades, for Thor's sake if nothing else.

For once, Loki had responded without a scheme, ready to fight a doomed battle just to keep Stark by his side – and for what? Fool that he was, all he had done was prevent Stark’s timely return, something he had been planning on doing all along anyway.

He recalled the way Stark had looked into his eyes, the way he had turned away – as if in disappointment? As if he had found whatever it was that he had been looking for?

He looked back down at the mortal, keeping pace alongside him as blithely as ever, and the growing comprehension of what he had done made the lingering warmth in his chest turn icy cold.

Today. He _had_ to transform Stark back this very day; now that he had the knowledge, there was no longer any reason to delay. But it would be no simple piece of magic, and he would be left almost drained at its end.

 _You dolt._ He should have let Amora take the useless beast, let _her_ expend her energy making right what she had done.

Back home, he followed Stark into the living room instead of retreating to his own the way he usually did. He looked around at the wide, uncluttered space, the most ideal location for spell work in this pathetic dwelling. Stark had sauntered off to the side and was picking fussily at the venison in his bowl.

For some reason, the sight made him feel incredibly weak, and he sank down to the floor. Immediately, Stark’s head swung around, so attuned to each other had they become, and Loki reached a hand out to him. The mortal trotted over, licking at his fingers before planting himself squarely in Loki’s lap, settling his large frame over Loki’s crossed legs.

Loki sank his fingers into soft fur and closed his eyes, bowing his head until skin brushed fur, allowing himself this moment of weakness.

He still remembered how he had felt the moment he had heard the words, “This day the Queen has gone to Valhalla.” The moment of utter, absolute disbelief, before the rage had set in – so much rage at everyone and everything for their uselessness, their lack of care to the woman who had loved them all. After that, he had hardly had time for grief before he burnt himself out and collapsed into a bottomless, listless despair.

He should have felt revulsion for even likening the profundity of his feelings for Frigga to what he felt for this one insignificant mortal, but there was no rage in him now. He was weary to the depths of his soul, a soul that ached with a melancholy that he did not understand, and perhaps – just the slightest bit – he was afraid.

He had always had little – it was something he had gotten used to over the years, ever standing in Thor’s shadow – but now he would have even less, and of his own doing.

Stark was uncommonly still for once, although he could still feel the rapid rise and fall of the mortal’s chest against him. They remained in that position, curled against each other, for what felt to Loki like both an eternity and no time at all – much the same as how these past six weeks had passed.

But what was six weeks to a being such as he? Nothing at all; less than nothing, really.

“Well,” he said at last, pushing Stark off him and immediately aching for the lost contact, “you have quite outstayed your welcome. It is, frankly, not worth my time to imprison you when there is so little to gain from it, so it is time for you to leave me in peace, Iron Man.”

He stepped back before he could change his mind, digging deep for every last drop of power he had in him. Stark remained standing where Loki had left him, ears lowered and tail still, and Loki closed his eyes as he reversed the spell in a short, sharp flash of green light.

The drain was immediate, and it took everything he had in him not to stagger sideways without support. Instead, he drew himself up to his full height, wishing that he had thought to don his ceremonial armour now that he was faced with a fully-armoured Stark, exactly the way he had been the moment he’d been struck by Amora’s spell.

They stared at each other in silence, man and god, until Loki managed to find his voice and spat, “ _Get out_.”

Already he was regretting his decision. He was as close to powerless as the Avenger had ever seen him, even if the mortal didn’t know it, and to have an enemy right in his own sanctuary – every part of him was shrieking at the wrongness of it, pushing him to strike, to kill before he himself was killed in his moment of vulnerability.

The Iron Man’s eyes glowed eerily, with neither soul nor emotion, and it was an effort not to retreat when the suit of armour took a step towards him.

Then a voice sounded, automated and distant. “I’m sorry.”

Another pause, the silence a gulf between them, and then a blast shattered his windows and there was nothing left but a fading spot of red and gold in the pale blue sky.

He realised then that he hadn’t made the mortal swear to keep his presence on Midgard a secret, but he found that he didn’t particularly care either way. His eyes traced the silver edges of the glass shards littering the floor, gaze falling on the abandoned bowls set against the wall, the squeaky ball lodged halfway beneath the couch, and then he automatically looked around for Stark – _his_ Stark.

But Stark was gone and he was alone again. Just the way he’d wanted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well.
> 
> Fun fact: I got stuck at two points while writing this story, and this was the first. I started off just wanting to write dog!Tony (for some strange reason), so when I finished this chapter I was like 'oh, he's human again. Now what?' Then I sort of put it off for a few days before just sitting down and writing whatever, and thankfully I managed to move the plot on with this whatever :)


	7. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I was really overwhelmed by the response to the previous chapter! Thank you all :) It was simultaneously delightful and terrifying; I really hope the rest of the story lives up to expectations.
> 
> There's probably more dialogue than usual in this chapter because Tony is back in the talking business, and he's always been good at it.

“JARVIS, let’s go pay the Avengers a surprise visit.” Tony grinned as he soared through the air, revelling in the knowledge that he had _fingers_ again, and colour vision, and his best ol’ buddy JARVIS. “Are they all in the Tower?”

“Yes, sir. I have advised them not to leave as you are currently en route.”

“Excellent. Tell them to prepare for some _party time_.” He put himself through a few more loop-the-loops just for the fun of it; feeling like himself again definitely deserved some celebration.

“Certainly, sir.” Was it just him or was that the faintest hint of sarcasm in JARVIS’ voice? “The Avengers are requesting information about your whereabouts for the past six weeks. They have been very worried. What should I tell them?”

“Nothing,” he said immediately, a little terser than he’d intended. “I’ll thank you to let me tell my own tales myself, JARV. Not even back for fifteen minutes and you’re already trying to steal my spotlight?”

Honestly, he didn’t have the first clue how the hell he was going to explain everything. The moment he mentioned Loki, the shit was sure to hit the fan before he could even finish his sentence. Besides, Reindeer Games didn’t exactly seem like the kind of person who threw house warming parties.

And judging from the last glimpse he’d had of Loki, he highly doubted that the Asgardian was currently in the mood for _any_ parties unless it involved dancing over Tony Stark’s grave. The mere thought of Loki’s expression at the sight of the Iron Man suit left Tony feeling like he had just trampled on a nest of sleeping ducklings.

The god had looked _hurt_ – also proud and pissed off, sure, but in the way a heartbroken teenager would defiantly scream, “Leave me alone!” before sliding down the wall for a good cry. Definitely not the expression of a vengeful conqueror, which was something to be thankful for at least.

He didn’t know what to think of Loki anymore. Calling the guy Reindeer Games didn’t even make him want to chuckle either; maybe he really _was_ compromised. He no longer felt the same devoted affection for the rogue Asgardian, but the memories were all still there, along with a whole new emotion called sympathy.

_C’mon, Tony, being a good pet owner doesn’t make him a good guy all of a sudden_.

But it didn’t take a genius to see that Loki was one sad, lonely individual. He hadn’t quite managed to put it together before, being all loony with dog happiness and encumbered with an annoyingly short attention span, but it was painfully obvious in retrospect. After all, it was kind of pathetic to take an enemy captive, only to end up releasing him out of guilt after being shown some scraps of affection.

Talk about reverse Stockholm syndrome. Loki was so lucky Tony hadn’t knocked him out right then and there in his home.

So the guy was more than a little screwed up – what did that mean? Was he good or bad? Irredeemable or otherwise? He figured he’d need a little more time to puzzle that one out, maybe with some help from the team if – and that was a _big_ if – they could even be forced to listen.

And of course, the whopper, the big one: how did he feel about Loki? Because there was a definite _something_ there, something he wasn’t about to touch with a ten-foot pole until everything else was sorted out, and maybe not even then.

He touched down on the roof of Avengers Tower with a glad sigh, all ready for a glass of good, strong alcohol. He didn't even care what kind it was.

But first, he had to get past his welcome home party.

“Where are my hugs?” he called, spreading his arms wide as the suit began to fold away from his body. The rest of the team was standing a few metres away, staring stupidly at him and looking like they'd just seen a ghost.

“I thought you told them I was on the way, JARV. Did they get hit with a freeze ray or something?”

That got Cap moving at last, and then all of a sudden he was surrounded by happy faces and gleeful laughter. Even the Widow deigned to give him a more than a cursory hug. He took a whole lot of back-slaps, and gave quite a few in return, and somehow the lot of them made it down to the common living room before the real questions were fired.

“Where have you _been_ , Tony? We looked _everywhere_.” Bruce, of course. Bless his sweet heart.

And then came the moment of truth. Tony darted a glance at Thor, who looked as pleased and relaxed as everyone else. The big guy had been a mess after his brother's 'death' – the kind of mess where he cried himself to sleep every night and woke up shouting Loki's name, as his girlfriend had quietly attested to.

Did Thor deserve to have his peace now that he had finally found it, or would he prefer to hear that Loki was still very much living and breathing?

And was pasting a smile on Thor's face worth turning Clint's world upside down all over again? The archer seemed to have recovered well enough since the attack, but it was hard to tell with trauma.

Of course, Loki was probably a bigger problem than just Thor and Clint, but Tony really couldn't care less about SHIELD at the moment. His information, his team, his decision.

“Tony.” Natasha arched a brow, managing to make even that minute action look graceful. “You're going to have to tell us about it sooner or later, you know.”

“Okay, hold up.” He held up his hands in a quelling gesture, his signature grin as disarming as ever. “How about you guys tell me what _you_ managed to figure out first. This way, I get to be the judge of how accurate you guys were, and you get awarded points accordingly.” He knew that Natasha would see his evasion tactic for what it was immediately, but all he could do was hope that she would trust him enough to let it go.

Apparently, she did.

“Honestly,” Bruce confessed sheepishly, “we were pretty much chasing shadows until Amora showed up again. We kind of reached the conclusion that you had been turned into a dog, but then it was like you’d disappeared into thin air.”

Tony raised a brow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Okay, you get points for the dog part, but that’s about it. If any of you kiddies decide that you want to play detective, don’t give up your day job.”

Clint snorted, eyes rolling as he took up the tale, which wasn’t complicated. Nothing that surprised Tony, anyway – as Amora had said, Thor had used his “princely aura glow” (Barton’s words, _not_ his) to convince her to help him locate Tony.

“But when she appeared again the next day you weren’t with her. She just gave us some cryptic shit about how you’d probably be back soon, and you’d be...what, bringing an old friend along? Or whatever. Then she showed us this random place in the park and said she’d done what Thor had wanted, and then she ran off again.” The archer paused, looking disgusted. “Crazy magic women.”

“JARVIS identified the location and we went there to look for you right away,” Steve said earnestly, leaning forward in his seat, “but we didn’t see you. I mean, we saw some dogs, but…well. We looked around for about an hour before coming back here, and then JARVIS suddenly told us that your missing suit was back online and you were on the way back.” The super soldier shrugged sheepishly, still looking befuddled by the way things had played out.

Tony nodded slowly, mind racing. So Amora hadn’t blabbed about Loki, but she _had_ mentioned an ‘old friend’. She could probably rival the god of mischief when it came to half-truths, that conniving witch.

He looked around at the Avengers, all with varying degrees of relief and confusion on their faces, and felt a huge rush of affection for them. At this point, they were more than just colleagues or fellow superheroes or whatever; they were his friends.

And that was when he decided that he should probably just tell them everything. _Mostly_ everything.

“Okay, that all fits in with what happened to me. So…” He hesitated, eyes narrowing, feeling uncharacteristically uncertain. But he couldn’t help thinking of Loki right now, probably sitting at his desk forgetting to eat or drink or sleep without someone around to snap him out of it. And didn’t _that_ sound familiar to Tony.

“What I’m going to say is going to sound _crazy_ , but you guys have to hear me out _entirely_ before there’s any discussion, deal? Otherwise you can just accept that I’m back and that you’ve missed me, yada yada, and we leave it at that. A lot of you are gonna be pissed or upset, so I just want to get this out there first.” His voice was flat, leaving no room for negotiation.

“It is always wise to reserve judgement until you have all the facts. That is what I was taught,” Thor ventured, although he still looked perplexed.

Cap nodded, expression firm. “Yeah, Thor’s right. No interruptions till Tony’s done, alright?” Everyone chimed in with their own affirmations, the Widow merely inclining her head, and Tony took a deep breath.

“So, uh, just to clarify before I do the big reveal – I wasn’t a prisoner or anything.” _Look at me, joining the half-truths club._ “I would have died from the fall if I hadn’t been magically healed, and then once I was transformed back, I…oh, I didn’t actually thank him. Shit. Gotta do that at some point. Right, so I was transformed back and I just flew straight here. No fighting, no restraints, got it?”

Everyone nodded dutifully, clearly still not grasping the gravity of the situation. He could see that at this point, all they were thinking was, _There’s another magic user around here that we don’t know about?_

“Okay. So…Loki isn’t dead, and Loki is the guy who saved me and transformed me back.”

Promises to remain silent till the end were immediately damned, and the shit hit the fan, just as he’d predicted.

* * *

He heard a knock on his door.

Loki didn’t know whether or not to be surprised. He’d expected either a full-out frontal attack, or to be left alone in peace; he had not anticipated any visits that involved polite door-knocking.

He stared up at the ceiling, wondering idly if it was some mortal who had ended up in front of the wrong door, but then another sharp rap on wood sounded, and he exhaled silently. Getting out of bed, he smoothed out his appearance with magic, decided that donning his armour would be a waste of energy, and went to answer the door.

“Stark.” His first instinct was to slam the door in the mortal’s face, but the man showed no trace of amusement anywhere on his features, so he restrained himself.

“Um, hi.” Stark’s smile looked as discomfited as Loki felt. “Can I come in?”

He raised a brow and looked the mortal up and down, then paused in sudden realisation. “Where is the device in your chest?” he asked, more sharply than he had intended. Had he gotten the spell wrong? Had Amora misled him for her own purposes?

“What?” Stark looked confused for a moment, and then his eyes widened. “You mean my arc reactor? Uh, it’s been gone for a _year_ , Bambi. You’re kind of behind the times.”

He blinked, decided it was hardly an important issue to pursue, and stepped back, allowing Stark through. Almost immediately, he wished that he hadn’t. He turned, taking in the sight of the living room that the mortal must be seeing – the glass littering the floor was gone, but the hole in the windows was still very much present, as were the bowls and toys that had been pushed into a corner.

How utterly piteous.

Stark turned back around, eyes meeting Loki’s for all of half a second before flickering away. “Well, I just wanted to say thanks for everything, because I realised that I didn’t tell you that before, uh, leaving.” Again with the eye flicker, this time towards the smashed windows. “Like, for everything. You didn’t have to save me and let me live in your house and change me back, but you did, and you were nice about it, so yeah. Thanks.”

“Is that all?” He wanted the mortal out of his house. His very presence was infuriating; it made Loki’s chest ache dully with something suspiciously like regret or yearning, feelings that he wanted to deny but couldn’t seem to shake no matter how hard he tried. Even more proof of how much sentiment had weakened him; even two full days had not been enough to wean him from the strength of Stark’s influence.

Perhaps killing the Midgardian with his own hands would help. It would be easy, like crushing a bug; the fool was dressed simply and vulnerably, not a hint of armour in sight. He would be in control; he would choke Stark’s life right out of his eyes, and oh how _sweet_ it would feel.

“Uh, no, that’s not all, actually.” Clearly, Stark had no idea how much danger his life was in, but he had always been a reckless fool after all. “So the thing is, I might have kind of told the team about how you saved me, and they’re still angry at you, but they’re also willing to accept that maybe you’ve changed, and – uh, I guess the point is that _Thorkindawantstoseeyou_.”

Loki blinked. “What?”

“I said –” Stark paused and swallowed nervously. “Thor kinda wants to see you. You know, because he sees you as his brother and he really mourned you when he thought that you died and –”

The rest of his words were lost when Loki abruptly slammed him up against the wall, fingers wrapping smoothly around the mortal’s throat, holding him aloft with little effort at all. Stark’s feet dangled helplessly above the floor and he gagged, one hand reaching up to clutch at Loki’s wrist, weak and useless.

“Here’s a message for you to bring back to _Thor_ ,” Loki spat, leaning in close to Stark’s face.

The next moment, the front door that he had been too rattled to remembered to shut slammed back on its hinges as the rest of the Avengers charged into the apartment. They were attired casually, but the Captain’s shield was clearly visible, as were the weapons the others wielded.

Thor entered more slowly with Mjolnir handing limply by his side. There was an expression of stunned disbelief on his face – an expression that didn’t change even though Loki was currently throttling one of his comrades, possibly to death.

Only the green monstrosity was nowhere to be seen, which Loki was not sorry to note.

“Unhand Iron Man right now,” the Captain said sternly, but there was an undercurrent of fear in his tone that he could not quite hide. Of course, he would not want to lose his friend so soon after having him returned.

“Final warning,” Barton spat, voice shaking but arms rock-steady. “Just give me a reason, and I _swear_ –”

Loki sneered, but he released Stark all the same, hiding a smirk at the way the mortal slid limply all the way to the floor and remained seated there, panting and gasping.

“ _Brother_.” Thor stepped forward, his expression full of pain, but Loki raised a hand, stopping the thunder god in his tracks.

“I do not yet regret saving your life, but that does not mean I want aught to do with you,” he said softly, viciously. “With _any_ of you. I have caused you no trouble, and so none of you have reason to be here. You should leave before my hospitality reaches its limits.”

Another bluff, like the one he had fed to Amora but two days ago. He was still almost completely drained; any battle that took place would be purely physical, and he had little hope of prevailing when faced with a team that utilised such diverse fighting styles.

“If Father only knew that you still _live_ –” Thor tried again, and Loki didn’t even try to hide his scoff of exasperation.

“The All-Father is well aware that I am far from dead, Thor. You were not informed at my request.”

Thor looked staggered at that, and then outraged. No doubt he felt slighted that such an important matter had been kept from him, the great Prince of Asgard.

“That’s it? You’re free to run around now because of some resurrection bullshit?” the archer demanded, furious, wanting his pound of flesh no doubt, and Loki allowed a sly smile to curve into existence.

“Not quite, Agent Barton. The All-Father knows I am alive, but he certainly does not know I am currently on Midgard.” He spread his arms wide, temptingly, feeling the urge to laugh bubble up inside him. “So you see, I could –”

Something clutched at his ankle and he jerked slightly, arms lowering as he looked down.

“C’mon, Bambi, they’re here to make friends. Stop antagonising them.” Stark gave another raspy cough and looked up at Loki, and the smile was not on his lips but in his eyes, and suddenly the god was transfixed. The same eyes he had learned how to read bit by bit, day by day; that familiar way the mortal had of making himself understood without a voice.

And what was in Stark’s eyes was clearly… _fondness_.

Not quite the same staunch, unwavering loyalty as before, but a fresh overture of tenderness freely offered, even with full knowledge of who he was and the atrocities he had committed.

Ridiculous. Ridiculous of Stark, who clearly lacked any sense of self-preservation, to even feel this way; equally absurd for him to _care_ what some mortal thought of him.

He could feel his hands beginning to tremble, but whether out of over-exertion or emotion he couldn’t tell. Then Stark reached up and slipped his hand into Loki’s and squeezed lightly, as if he still had some way of sensing Loki’s distress, and it felt like his chest tightened to the point of pain.

The air was so still that his ears were buzzing with silence. He had no idea what the other Avengers were doing, be it simply staring stupidly like the dolts they were or moving into positions of attack. He wanted to look up, to rid himself of this awful sensation of vulnerability, but Stark seemed to have sunk hooks into his mind and he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Stark _trusted_ him – it was so obvious, the way it was shining out of those brown eyes. There was a sensible trepidation, yes, but also a quiet confidence in the way he remained relaxed by Loki’s side when his life could be so easily extinguished by a single swing of the god’s arm.

“You are _witless_ ,” he breathed, a prayer and a curse all at once.

Stark grinned and finally, _finally_ looked away. His grip on Loki’s hand tightened as he braced himself, pulling himself to his feet, and then the contact ceased as the mortal began to massage at his neck, his expression laughably nonchalant.

Loki snapped his gaze back to the room at large, making a conscious effort to stop his hand from clenching convulsively at his side, and found the sight of Barton with his mouth hanging open gormlessly a most amusing one indeed. Thor looked much like he had been smashed over the head with Mjolnir, so amazed was his expression. The Captain’s eyes were wide with both wonder and incomprehension, and Loki suddenly found himself slightly more kindly disposed towards the tall blonde.

Ah, but the lady – she was a mystery indeed. Her face revealed neither shock nor suspicion, merely a cool, calculative air that he could very well appreciate.

“So, all friends?” Stark spoke up obnoxiously, stepping past Loki and turning to face him again. “ _They’ve_ promised to play nice, so it’s just you left now, Bambi.” One of the Midgardian’s dark brows rose, making him look annoyingly impudent.

“As I’ve said, there is no _point_ to this,” Loki growled. “I mean your hopeless realm no further harm, but neither do I have any intentions of _helping_ you.”

The corner of Stark’s mouth drooped slightly, like he was fighting a disappointed frown. Loki’s gaze dropped to the man’s neck, fixing on the delicate skin that was already beginning to purple with bruising.

“But I suppose I have no other choice, do I?” he concluded with a scowl, and the Black Widow’s lips quirked in a barely-discernible smile.


	8. Mediation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, things happen here.

It was absolutely surreal to be sitting around Loki's dining table with the god of mischief himself.

There was a part of Steve that couldn’t help demanding for Loki to properly account for the wrongs that he had committed. His other, more pragmatic side whispered that the Asgardian would be invaluable in a fight, and that this – whatever _this_ was – was an opportunity that they couldn’t afford pass up.

He had worried about Clint at first, but Natasha was sticking close to the archer, which seemed to relax him subtly in the way nothing else could. He still looked extremely ticked off, but it was nowhere near the blind fury he had once harboured for Loki, in the days directly following the Chitauri attack.

Surprisingly, Thor hadn't said much, but he didn't look as upset as Steve had expected either. There were no dark clouds in sight even though Loki was all but giving his brother the cold shoulder. Steve supposed it was pure relief at Loki's survival that was doing wonders for the thunder god's mood more than anything else.

Tony and Loki, on the other hand – well, Steve didn't know what to think of that at all. Not an uncommon reaction when it came to the erratic billionaire, but it was still unsettling to see the easy familiarity with which the two navigated around each other. They seemed uncannily attuned to each other's thoughts and moods; the glances they occasionally shared were completely inscrutable to Steve.

If he hadn't already heard Tony speak of what he'd gone through, there was no way he wouldn't have believed that the inventor hadn't been compromised.

But despite the ease of their connection, there seemed to be something fundamentally _off_ about the way Tony and Loki interacted. They were acting like a couple long separated (a thought that he found very disturbing indeed), one that had to go through the awkward stage of reacquainting themselves with each other, even as they fell seamlessly back into sync out of pure habit.

“...better than keeping everything a secret and then being busted, right?” Tony raised a brow, looking round at them all, and Steve realised guiltily that he had been so busy studying the odd pair that he'd missed most of whatever his friend had been saying.

“Well, I can’t say that I disagree with you there,” Natasha said with a thin smile. “And now that we’re all aware, what did you have in mind next?”

“Uh.” Again, Tony glanced over at Loki, who appeared to be observing them all impassively. “Nothing, I guess. I mean, it’s an ‘if you leave us alone, we'll leave you alone’ kind of situation, right? Simple as that.” Tony turned to address the Asgardian directly, and if Steve hadn't been observing them so closely, he would have completely missed the minute narrowing of Loki's eyes.

But it was impossible for any of them to overlook the way Tony reflexively set his hand on Loki's arm in response to whatever the god had silently imparted, nearer to the wrist than the elbow. It looked like an almost unconscious gesture of comfort, or reassurance, although Steve had no idea what for. The nuances of their wordless communication were beyond him, and probably always would be.

That was what came from living exclusively with someone for six weeks straight, he supposed. It hadn't even taken him half as long to bond with the Howling Commandos, so he did have the faintest idea of how deep their relationship truly ran.

“I would speak with you alone, brother,” Thor said, sounding slightly desperate, “even if only for a moment.”

The two gods looked at each other, the force of their stares practically crackling in the air, before Loki shrugged uncaringly. “I'm sure whatever you have to say to me can be said in the presence of your mortal friends,” he said airily, but everyone could hear the mocking tone behind his innocuous words, “unless you desire to impart some great Asgardian secret to me. However, I highly doubt that there are any you know that I do not.”

Thor didn't look particularly discouraged as he forged onward determinedly. “If you just would return to Asgard with me –” he tried, and immediately Loki laughed, softly and bitterly.

“Are you still going on about that, Thor?” he said quietly, almost pityingly. “I will not return with you to beg the All-Father for mercy and forgiveness for my crimes, as I'm sure you were about to suggest. All that will earn me is another stint in a cell, and I have had quite enough of _that_.”

Thor shook his head stubbornly. “No, Loki. I’m sure –”

Quite suddenly, like a wild animal gone mad in the blink of an eye, Loki stood so fast that his chair literally flew backwards. Half the backrest wedged itself into the wall, sending a shower of plaster crackling to the floor, and everyone winced.

As if they needed anymore reminders that they had a potentially hostile, incredibly strong alien god in their midst. With magic.

Tony jumped to his feet as well, looking apprehensive, and it was that look more than anything that made Steve nervous.

"Is it not enough," Loki snarled, eyes flashing so wildly that he looked quite unhinged, "that my magic has been bound like some sort of common _beast’s_? Must he now be privy to my every move? Shall I now send him missives when I decide to relieve myself?”

“Father has…bound your magic?” Thor repeated, looking dumbstruck. “But surely he would…now that you have aided us, he will see that you have started on a new path – surely he could be persuaded to lift the binding?”

Loki literally seemed to swell with rage, and all of a sudden everyone was on their feet with the jarring scrape of wood against tile. Steve’s knees bent slightly as he reached for his shield, eyes locking on the slighter god’s ominously still form.

“Wait,” Tony said suddenly, reaching out to grab hold of Loki’s arm like it was a convenient railing beside him. Loki slowly turned towards Tony, looking just as furious as before, except there was now also annoyance and exasperation lining his features.

“Don’t _touch_ me,” Loki spat, sounding both disgusted and horrified. He wrenched his arm out of Tony’s grip so forcefully that the inventor stumbled backwards slightly, knees knocking into his chair. Tony shot him a wounded look, but the god only took a pointed step to the side, away from Tony. It was like watching two children quarrel.

Again, another step of their dance that Steve couldn’t get a handle on. He didn’t know what Loki was trying to prove – that he hadn’t actually lost his temper with Thor? That he still thought humans were insignificant insects?

Whatever it was, it had put an annoyed expression on Tony’s face. “So how _did_ you change me back if you don’t have your magic?” he demanded, every inch of him suddenly radiating hostility. He had been hurt, and now he wanted to hurt in return – this, Steve understood.

“My magic has merely been _limited_ ,” Loki snapped back, narrowing his eyes sideways at Tony like the rest of them weren’t standing around the table listening in as well. “To cut it off completely would be… _dangerous_ , so to speak. As for how I was able to transform you back, given transmutation is a powerful spell indeed – well, I have my ways, Stark.”

“So basically you can still do powerful shit,” Clint summarised flatly. “Do we seriously need more proof of how dangerous he is? There’s such a thing as _preventative measures_ , guys.”

Loki’s expression seemed to shift unnervingly, from grim irritability to a coldly disparaging smile. “You are right. Even weakened, I am still capable of greater things than your weak mind can ever hope to imagine, Barton. I can implant a dozen different images in your brain, each worse than the last, so that you come out of it gibbering with _madness_.” His voice was feather-soft, reminding Steve of monsters lurking unseen, and all the more terrifying because of it.

Clint was white-faced with anger, fists clenched so hard that his nails had to be drawing blood.

Only Natasha looked unfazed. “I’ve found that the more someone talks, the weaker they really are,” she said, a cool challenge in her voice. “What are you trying to make up for, Loki? Who are you trying to scare?”

Loki laughed, low and smooth. “Perhaps I am simply being honest for once, my lady. But perhaps you’re right.” He paused, pursing his lips in a parody of contemplation. “Who _am_ I trying to scare?”

And then he _lunged_ across the table towards Natasha like a pouncing lion, hands outstretched as if to rip her head right off. And Steve had no doubt that that was exactly what would have happened had she not executed a scrambled backflip out of the way.

Without conscious thought, Steve found himself diving in front of Clint and Natasha, shield raised defensively. Thor was shouting something somewhere to the side, and Steve heard the loud clatter of a chair toppling, audible over the din before everything stilled.

He didn’t realise the attack, if it could even be called that, was over at first, not till he heard the furious whispering from opposite the table, accompanied by a disturbingly familiar rasping noise. Lowering his shield, he only had time to see Loki and Tony in pretty much the exact same position the Avengers had first seen them in (that is, Tony being throttled to within an inch of his life) before Clint rolled out from behind his cover.

In one smooth motion, the archer had nocked and released an arrow before Steve could even take another breath.

Loki looked up, and the arrow struck him full in the shoulder, the arrowhead peeping out his back dripping crimson. The god’s lip curled and he ripped the arrow clean out with a horrible sound of tearing flesh, but he didn’t even seem to feel it. The next moment, Thor was there, literally lifting Loki off Tony.

“Brother, cease this _at once_!” Thor roared. Loki twisted in the thunder god’s grasp, hissing curses and clawing ferociously as the two stumbled away from the rest of the team, locked in their own struggle.

Tony was already sitting up when Steve reached his side, his face red with exertion. He gave Steve a very wry look, and there was clearly something on the tip of his tongue, but it took him three tries to emit more than a whistle-like noise from his throat.

“Hey, it’s fine. Thor’s got him,” Steve said anxiously, but Tony shook his head, still looking tense.

Natasha appeared by his side then, a glass of water in hand, and Tony took it with a grateful grin. He guzzled it down within seconds before trying again, this time managing to sound less like a stuck pig than before.

“God, all this strangulation is doing wonders for my heart, I’m sure,” Tony snorted, but then his expression turned grim. “Okay, so this is a thing between me and Loki. You guys have to get out so we can talk it out in private.”

Steve gaped; he just couldn’t help it.

“Uh, no way in hell, buddy,” Clint said, quite succinctly putting Steve’s thoughts into words. “It’s not your time to go just yet.”

“What are you thinking, Tony?” Natasha asked, her voice level.

“Um.” Tony’s eyes darted to her, evidently realising that she was the one most likely to be on his side. “I’m thinking that I’m the reason he’s so loony right now, so we kind of have to sort our issues out before we continue any peace talks.”

“He just tried to _kill_ you,” Steve pointed out dryly, trying to ignore the fearful pounding of his heart in his chest. “Again.”

“Yeah, well, I did kind of jump on his back to stop him from murdering Nat.” Tony shrugged flippantly, as unrepentant as ever. “C’mon, Cap, where’s the trust? I’ve survived way worse.”

Steve hesitated, every part of him screaming for him to say, _No, we’ll take Loki in and let Thor handle him_. He looked over at Natasha, who was staring fixedly at Tony, and he could tell that the gears were turning in her mind – costs versus benefits, Tony’s life for a truce with the strongest, maddest sorcerer they knew.

She met his gaze, and _this_ silent message, he understood, although he didn’t like it.

“Okay. Fifteen minutes.”

Tony rolled his eyes, pulled out his earpiece, and plunked it in Steve’s hand. “Just go grab some doughnuts, catch Bruce up on what’s going on. I’ll give you guys a call once I’m done. Could be a while, so don’t wait up.”

“You don’t even have your _suit_ ,” Clint pointed out, sounding like he suspected that Tony had sustained brain damage.

“If he wanted to, he’d kill me with or without it.” Tony coughed meaningfully. “Now get going.”

Steve sighed, standing and looking over at the wrecked living room. The couch was overturned, and some dog toy had found its way underneath the dining table. Loki lay spread-eagled in the middle of the chaos, Mjolnir planted on the small of his back, his face turned away from Steve.

Standing, Tony stumbled slightly, shaking Clint’s arm off as he moved past Thor and sat down cross-legged facing Loki. His throat looked livid and completely red from a distance.

“So everyone is leaving to give us some alone time, okay?” Tony reached a hand out, hesitated, then settled on Loki’s lightly – not gripping, just light contact of skin on skin. Nevertheless, it looked like Loki convulsed at the touch, and Thor shifted just that little bit closer.

“I don’t _need_ you.” The pained hiss was clearly audible in the enclosed space they were all clustered in, although Steve didn’t quite understand what it meant.

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say.” Tony looked up at Thor, eyes shadowed, smile wavering. “Thor, you’re going to lift the hammer and then all of you are going to scoot right out the door, _capisce_? Everything’s been settled with Bossman America over there.”

Steve held his breath when Thor lifted Mjolnir, but Loki made no sudden moves, only let out a shuddering exhalation before he began to prop himself up on his elbows.

“Let’s go,” Steve whispered, beginning to push Clint and Natasha out behind him. Thor walked past at snail-speed, looking as reluctant to leave as he felt. He couldn’t take his eyes off the pair in the middle of the living room, Loki holding himself up with shaky arms, head turned to look Tony in the eyes.

Steve crossed the threshold and quietly shut the door.

* * *

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, feeling the brief discomfort of displaced ribs snapping back into position before he tried to sit up.

All at once, Stark's hands were on him – his shoulders, his arms, trying to help pull him upright but only succeeding in tugging him off balance again. He sagged momentarily, shoulder bumping against Stark's chest, before he managed to shrug the mortal away.

“Useless, even with hands,” he snorted, but he couldn’t quite find the right amount of venom for his words.

Stark gave a surprised scoff at that, but said nothing, watching as Loki shifted into a sitting position mirroring his. The mortal looked apprehensive, and rightfully so; Loki's anger hadn't abated, but it was, at the very least, no longer bubbling over.

As much as he wished it otherwise, it was somehow easier to relax now that it was just him and Stark. The mortal's shape was different, but the ambience still felt very much the same – easier to be _truthful_ , to himself and to Stark. And that was the whole problem, wasn't it?

“What do you think there is to discuss?” He was careful to watch Stark closely, to anticipate any attempt at deceit.

The man shrugged infuriatingly. “Everything. Us, I guess, obviously. You keep saying you don't need me, but the fact that you keep saying it while _strangling_ me is a little suspect, don't you think?”

Loki bristled, keeping his eyes firmly above Stark's neck. “I was merely stating the truth. What use could I ever have for _you_ , a mortal _worm_?”

“Could we like, stop with the insults?” Stark rolled his eyes, seemingly exasperated, as if _he_ had any reason to be. “I mean, if we want this session to be productive at all...”

“I still fail to see what 'this session' is even supposed to be about,” he cut in coldly.

Stark frowned, the gleam in his eyes turning challenging. “How about the fact that you can't handle me _touching_ you without breaking down or getting mad for no reason?”

“It is truly astounding how _dense_ you mortals can be,” he sneered tauntingly. “Before your transformation, you would never have willingly laid hands on one such as I. What you have been doing and feeling are merely the results of your brain trying to align your memories with your emotions. Is that not clear enough?”

He folded his arms, looking out the window at the overcast sky. Thor, probably; that great oaf.

“So you're saying I only like you now because I was your dog,” Stark concluded.

Loki merely inclined his head in acknowledgment, not liking the doubt clouding the mortal’s expression.

“Yeah, well, _no_. What the hell are you on?” Stark actually looked offended. “ _My_ brain was in there too – me, Tony Stark. So I didn't count for anything the whole time? We had this... _thing_ like – like friendship or whatever. That was me; that wasn't some damn _dog_. You think a dog would tell you when to eat? Or laugh at you when you talked to Sam?”

Loki blinked, mildly taken aback, realising that things were beginning to spiral out of his control, the way they tended to whenever Stark was involved.

“Yes, you did do all that,” he said slowly, patiently, “but only because much of the liking that made you do those things came from another mind. You would gladly have let me neglect myself before; there is no use denying that.”

“Look, I'm the one who had to share a brain with a dog, and let me tell you, the liking came from _both_ sides. There's something there, a connection; I know you feel it.” Suddenly, Stark got to his feet and began pacing back and forth, looking oddly agitated. “Even now, right now, me sitting in front of you, I still…I still _want to be your friend_.”

He pulled away before Stark could make a grab for him again, feeling a cold sensation welling up in his chest. He hated that the mortal was making him hope, making him dependent, _taming_ him. He wasn't fool enough to deny that he was comforted by Stark's company, but he also wasn't naïve enough to think that it could last.

He closed his eyes. “No, you don't,” he said, because he _knew_.

“I do,” Stark said firmly, and he heard the mortal's footsteps come to a stop before him, the faint rustle of fabric as the man resumed his seat. "Look, this isn’t any easier for me than it is for you. I'm not someone with a lot of deep relationships with just anyone; I know something special when I feel it, and I'm feeling it now."

Loki blinked. _Special_.

“You are a spectacular fool,” he said in annoyance, for lack of anything more cutting, but that only served to make Stark grin.

“Actually, I wanted to try something,” the mortal said suddenly, gaze fixing intently on Loki's face. “I didn't want to think about it at first – I mean, I sort of _still_ don’t want to think about it, but I don’t feel as against it as before. Since we’re talking about everything, I guess I'm ready to know now, you know?”

Loki did not, in fact, _know_. He had no idea what Stark was babbling about, and he only quirked a brow when the mortal rose up on his knees, leaning forward and planting his hands on Loki's thighs in a gesture strangely reminiscent of the dog he had been just two days ago.

“What are you even –”

Loki's mouth was still open mid-sentence when Stark closed the distance between their faces and pressed his lips to the god's.


	9. Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this chapter is the reason for the rating, so proceed with caution! No hard feelings if you want to skip the sexy bits; I am thoroughly embarrassed that I wrote this (or more accurately, it wrote itself) considering I originally intended to chastely fade to black. Unfortunately, Tony is not that sort of man. *shrugs*

Kissing a Norse god was a lot like, well, like kissing a regular human being.

Loki’s lips were cool but soft beneath Tony’s, just like his fingers, and he felt the god’s minute jerk of surprise when their lips first made contact.

Then Loki _melted_. It was the only thing he could think of to describe it, the only word his frazzled mind could come up with, because _wow_. It wasn’t like Loki softened or moaned or anything; instead, Tony could feel him going rigid, the hard muscles of the god’s thighs beneath his palms tensing as he pressed forward against Tony’s mouth, like he wanted to pour himself down Tony’s throat.

Slowly, gently, but inexorably – melting.

There weren’t any fireworks – Tony had kissed a _lot_ of people, and he knew better than to expect sparks behind his eyes or whatever – but it felt good. It felt comfortable.

It was also oddly arousing.

He felt one of Loki’s hands slide around the back of his head, pressing him closer, his tongue sliding into Tony’s mouth. An electric shiver traced its way up Tony’s spine, and he made a small, needy noise in the back of his throat.

Then they broke apart, each of them panting, eyes locked in a mixture of shock and amazement. Gradually, Tony realised that he had somehow migrated from kneeling on the floor to sitting in Loki’s lap. If he ducked his head, he could probably press his ear to Loki’s chest in a scene straight out of a romcom. One of his hands was even clutching at the god’s shirt, and he carefully let go.

But neither of them moved to untangle themselves, even though the position they were in was weird as shit.

Or it should have been, but instead it felt normal. Cosy even.

There was something _so_ wrong with him.

“What was that, Stark?” Loki’s voice was very low and very close, his eyes blank orbs, and Tony had to repress another shiver.

“You don’t have to need someone to want them,” he whispered. Not because he was trying to be sexy – he already _was_ – but because his throat was really starting to hurt. The talking might have been helpful, but possibly not so healthy.

“Are you presuming that I _want_ you?” Loki sounded dangerously offended, his brows drawing sharply together.

Honestly, Tony kind of wanted to laugh. He’d always thought that _he_ was the master of deflection and avoidance and self-destructive behaviour, but Loki was so much further down the river of denial than he was.

“Wouldn’t dare to presume anything about _you_ , Great Prince of the Forest,” he snorted, “but I think _I_ want _you_. Hell, what am I even saying? I think that kiss made the whole me wanting you part pretty obvious.”

“Stark.” Loki sounded tired, and the word came out more like a sigh that anything else. “These feelings will not last. You will be saying something very different once a few weeks have passed.”

He looked at Loki sharply, really channelled his inner Black Widow and tried to _observe_. The prickliness, the refusal to _need_ anyone but himself, the denial, the fear, the hope.

Tony was leery when it came to commitment, but _Loki_ was afraid of being left high and dry. What a horrible goddamn pair they were.

And he knew what he should do – knew he should just spare them both a truckload of pain and say, _Yeah, you’re right. Let’s just get this peace treaty signed and I’ll skedaddle. We’ll never need to see each other again and we can just forget that the kiss ever happened._

But he was Tony Stark, king of bad decisions, and what he wanted he usually got. He hadn’t had a kiss like that since Pepper, hadn’t felt like this for someone since Pep either. How long had it been? A year? A damn _record_ was what it was.

“I won’t. I’m not going anywhere. I know myself.” He paused, feeling a bit like an asshole with the way he was manipulating the god of lies himself. “You just have to trust me, the same way you trusted me whenever you stuck your hand into my mouth and I didn’t take all your fingers off at the knuckles.”

Loki’s laugh sounded a little strangled, but it was definitely a laugh.

“Your transformation used up almost all my reserves,” the god said out of nowhere. “I barely have enough magic to battle effectively right now.”

Tony blinked. “What?”

Loki rolled his eyes, but his voice was soft and wary. “I –” He broke off, looking like he was in physical pain as he forced the words out, “I am trying to _trust_ you.”

Oh. _Oh._

“Well, good to know that it goes both ways.”

Why was he so bad with words when it actually _mattered_?

So he just leaned up and slanted his lips over Loki’s again, hand reaching up to clutch at the god’s shoulder. He could feel his thumb pressing down into the hollow of Loki’s clavicle, the soft, sharp intake of breath that tickled before he was being pulled closer again.

It was like all the distance Loki always tried to place between himself and everyone else in the world vanished whenever they kissed. One hand had returned to the back of Tony’s head, tugging lightly at his hair, while the other settled somewhere near Tony’s hip, politely motionless.

It was different this time, Tony could feel it. For one thing, there was no doubt that Loki was taking charge; his kisses were hot and brief, more experimental and less heat-of-the-moment than before. Little nips and licks and different angles that spoke of centuries of experience, considering how perfectly calculated they were to drive Tony nuts.

He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Okay, he sort of could because, well, he _was_ Tony Stark after all, but this was _Loki_. And Tony’s hand was under his shirt.

He was groping a god.

He traced his fingers over lean muscle, felt them contract at his touch, and chuckled against Loki’s lips. In succinct response, the hand at his hip moved lower to squeeze at his ass, and the motion went straight to Tony’s groin.

He moaned a little, pulling away long enough to say between pants, “You know, if you think about it, we cohabited for more than a month before getting around to making out. I feel so chaste.”

“What in Odin’s _name_ are you going on about, Stark?” The hand on his ass squeezed again, and he jerked. This time, his thigh brushed up against a very interested party in Loki’s pants.

_Well, hello there._

“Nothing. Just something I was thinking about,” Tony gasped, wriggling awkwardly in place so that he ended up straddling Loki instead of curled in his lap like a manly mermaid. Then he reached down to palm Loki’s erection through his pants, grinning at the muffled hiss that sounded against his ear.

“While _kissing_ me?” Loki gritted out, but he didn’t sound all that upset, not when his hips were thrusting upwards at Tony’s touch.

“Stop trying to pick a fight, Bambi. It’s not working.” He grinned all the wider at the god’s glare, before he was pushed down onto the floor and a startled _oof_ escaped him. This was going to be _so_ bad for his back, but Loki was leaning over him, doing who-knew- _what_ and _damn_ did it feel good. The god’s tongue flicked out against his neck, licking slowly up to his ear, before he felt sharp little nips all the way back down.

“I…” It was hard to think when Loki’s knee was pressed so firmly between his legs, shifting ever so slightly now and then. “Can we…bed?” The part of his brain in charge of syntax had clearly switched off sometime in the past few minutes.

Loki chuckled, breath blooming cool against Tony’s skin, and suddenly the world _lurched_ and – they were one room over, on the bed they had shared numerous times before.

That was a weird thought.

Even weirder, but much more exciting, was that they were suddenly both buck-naked.

“That’s…convenient,” Tony murmured. “I thought – your magic?”

Loki snorted. “Negligible,” he said casually, and dived back down to resume his attack on Tony’s neck.

Right. Well, he could get behind that.

A moment later, Loki moved back up to reclaim Tony’s mouth, and the movement sent the head of Tony’s cock brushing along Loki’s length. Both of them jumped as if electrocuted, and it would have been hilarious if Tony hadn’t suddenly been so frustratingly, achingly hard. He arched up, moaning into Loki’s mouth, wanting, _needing_ –

Loki’s hand reached down between them and closed around his shaft, and he bucked without even meaning to, making a horribly embarrassing sound like something had stuck in his throat. The god laughed almost cruelly, rubbing at the head of Tony’s cock, slicking his palm slightly. When he finally began to stroke, it was slowly, languidly, in time to the deep, maddening kisses he was delivering, like he wanted to swallow Tony whole.

Tony took a deep, shuddering breath when Loki seemed to finish his ministrations and let go, leaving him quivering with need. The way the god made him feel was new, intoxicating – to be at someone’s mercy, just _waiting_ for them to decide to give him pleasure.

It was sublime.

He closed his eyes when a finger probed at his entrance, the digit already slick with some sort of oil as it pressed in and swirled in a single smooth motion. Apparently, Loki wasn’t much for patience (not right now, at any rate), because he soon felt another finger stretching him, pushing further still until he felt a faint burst of pleasure when the fingers pressed and withdrew.

“What do you want, Stark?” Loki sounded drunk with pleasure, and Tony hadn’t even _done_ anything yet. He opened his eyes narrowly, concentration still fixed on the fingers thrusting in and out of him with ease, and tried to focus on the god looming above him.

Loki was looking at him, his face fixed in an expression of hazy intent, and it was only then that Tony saw the raw pink scar right below Loki’s collarbone. Not the neat circle one would expect of an arrow wound, but an ugly horizontal gash, from when the Asgardian had carelessly torn it out of flesh and muscle.

Hardly able to coordinate his movements, Tony raised a trembling hand to the slightly wrinkled looking flesh, fingers brushing the remnants of what now looked like a week old wound with reverence. A soft exhalation fell from Loki’s lips at the touch, and he lowered his head to press his lips to the hollow of Tony’s throat.

“Tell me what you want,” he repeated, lips against skin, and when he looked up Tony could count every single one of the god’s eyelashes. He could see the soft upward curve of Loki’s mouth and the bright desire in his eyes, but also something darker, more primal, lurking not far behind.

It reminded him of the nights he had slept tucked up tight against Loki, hearing his person’s heart thumping rabbit-quick with fear; of curling up as close to Loki as he could get, knowing the god was in pain but not knowing where or how to help, and being pushed away before light flashed and he was _himself_ again.

“I want…” he started, and _growled_ when Loki withdrew his fingers from his stretched hole, leaving him empty and unsatisfied. “I want _you_.”

 _That_ pleased Loki, he could tell. The god’s pupils seemed to dilate even further, the ring of moss green all but vanishing, his dark gaze consuming Tony utterly.

The head of Loki’s cock, slippery with lubricant, pressed against Tony’s entrance, and he hissed, forcing himself to relax completely. Loki just stared down at him, eyes very wide, mouth slightly open in a way that Tony found impossibly, annoyingly attractive. Slowly, agonisingly so, he pushed in relentlessly, taking his time to stretch Tony wide open, until Tony was shaking with the force of his need to be filled.

“ _You_ ,” he snarled, hips rolling in an act of futility, furious and aroused in equal measure. “I want _you_ , _goddammit_.”

There was just enough time to see a small, lopsided smile begin to grace Loki’s lips before the god slammed his hips forward suddenly enough that tears prickled in Tony’s eyes. He leaned down to capture Tony’s cry in his mouth at the same time, kissing Tony so fiercely they barely had time to draw breath. Then they were panting furiously as their tongues tangled and withdrew, as they bit and sucked at lips, neck, shoulder, and all the while, Loki thrust hard and fast, his hips driving into Tony’s to the point of pain.

Tony held on tight to Loki’s shoulders, his nails leaving red welts that vanished in seconds whenever they slipped down the god’s arms, his skin damp with sweat. The god was slamming into him so hard he was almost literally seeing stars, on the verge of passing out with every thrust. But at the same time, some part of him could tell that Loki was actually _holding back_ , that he would probably be dead ten times over if Loki really let go of himself.

This wasn’t anger, this was just – sheer godly strength.

And it felt hellishly good.

He screamed as he came, and felt so boneless and limp after coming all over himself that he was barely conscious of Loki spilling into him soon after with a guttural-sounding groan of ecstasy.

“ _God_ , Loki,” was all he could make himself say, and he was duly amazed at the way his words were as slurred as the time he had been so shitfaced he hadn’t been able to walk.

He felt Loki lowering himself down beside him, and gentle fingers combed through Tony’s hair for a few seconds. Then he felt fabric dabbing at his chest – either a bedsheet or something magical, considering Loki hadn’t moved from his side – wiping the residual stickiness from his skin. Sitting up, Loki did the same for his ass, manhandling him easily and lifting him every which way, but with an unexpected consideration that he really, _really_ appreciated at the moment.

“Sleep, Stark. You're exhausted.” Loki sounded amused as he rearranged Tony's legs once he was done with the clean-up.

He snorted, reaching out blindly until he caught hold of Loki's arm (which the god might in fact have shifted closer to make possible) and managed to tug the god back down to his side. Settling himself on one elbow, Loki started again with his fingers-through-hair motion, which he wasn't quite used to but certainly not about to oppose.

“Yeah, you think?” he said drowsily, the soft motions reminding him of being petted to sleep on this very bed. “You're a damn beast.”

Loki's hand slowed instantly, unsure. “And what does that mean?” he asked, sounding particularly careful in his clipped enunciation.

“Uh.” He was so close to the edge of slumber that it was getting ridiculously hard to think. “Like, being a beast? If you're a beast at something, you're really good at it. So case in point, you're a beast at sex.”

Loki's laughter was warm and reassuring, and he turned towards it, pressing closer so that his forehead rested against the god's chest. At this proximity, beneath the musky smell of sweat, he could smell the same sharp, minty scent that he had always scented so easily before.

“Silly mortal.” The words sounded vaguely sad but affectionate, and Tony fell asleep to the feather-light pressure of lips brushing his hair.

* * *

It had been an age since he had lain with a mortal – most of them were so _painfully_ dull and trite. He had almost forgotten the glass-like fragility of their bodies; Midgardians looked very much like Asgardians, after all.

He felt a swell of protectiveness rise in him as he considered the man snoring lightly against his chest. So vulnerable, so unwary.

As pathetic as it made him sound, he would stay until the mortal tired of him, be it in a week or a month. He was tired of fighting against his own desires; he would take the separation unflinching when it came, but Stark was his for now.

His feelings for the mortal remained mostly unchanged regardless of form, although he had to admit that he rather missed being fully responsible for Stark's wellbeing. There was simply something about caring properly for a creature fully dependent on him, and seeing its contentment in his presence, that lightened his mood.

Stark in his current form, however – there was certainly nothing _deficient_ about him as he was. He knew that he had been ungentle in his passion, much more so than he should have been, and Stark would be very sore indeed once he awoke. But he had borne it well, taken pleasure from it even.

He remembered how it had felt as Stark arched beneath him, lips full of lust and eyes full of rapture, baring his bruised neck without a care, so completely at Loki’s mercy. A pang of remorse hit him in the gut even as the mortal found his release and clenched convulsively around Loki, squeezing and tightening until it felt like Stark would milk his very essence from him as well.

Loki traced a finger absently along the mortal's skin, trailing the edge of the puckered scar tissue on his chest, wondering at the ease with which Stark had slid under his skin and doused the disquiet within him that never slept. He didn’t know what had possessed him to tell the man of his present weakness, but it was extraordinary indeed.

He still felt the pressing need to lift the geas, certainly, but he was no longer as certain about his subsequent actions. After all, what would the All-Father's death achieve besides putting Thor on a throne he had no desire for, and forever banishing Loki from the only home he had ever known?

 _Ah, but how long will it take you find an appropriate artefact to break the geas? You speak as if Stark will still want you at that time_ , a sly voice whispered to him.

Loki shut his eyes and pressed his lips to the top of Stark's head, concentrating on regulating his breathing. There was no use in planning for a future that might or might not arise; Stark might no longer even be _alive_ when he lifted the geas.

He, on the other hand, had time enough to spare.

He supposed he would do well to do as the mortals did now that he was sharing his bed with one, and take each day as it came.

Besides, some part of him was rather looking forward to witnessing the Avengers’ response to whatever Stark saw fit to tell them – and knowing him, it was likely to be everything. The horror, the disgust, it would be _delightful_ ; perhaps even the assumption that Stark had been enchanted once more.

Foolish creatures.

With a sigh, he shifted so that he was laying down, careful not to jostle Stark in the process, but the mortal was so deeply asleep that Loki could probably have leaped up and down upon the bed without waking him. He didn’t even stir in the slightest when Loki draped an arm over his still form and rested his chin against the man’s short hair.

He truly was as great a fool as them all.

His rest had been fitful and brief ever since Stark's departure, but with the mortal back in his arms, he was sound asleep before the conscious thought to do so even occurred to him.


	10. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this chapter might as well be subtitled 'Loki has issues'. (Also, we're reaching the end, wow!)

“So exactly how much risk does this use-magical-lamp-to-blast-yourself technique entail?” Tony frowned, staring up at the ceiling.

“Some,” Loki replied off-handedly.

“ _Some_?” He flipped over on the bed so that he was lying on his stomach, fixing the back of Loki’s head with a hard stare. “’Some’ as in you might knock yourself out for a few hours or you might explode into a million pieces?”

“You are so full of theatrics, Stark,” the god snorted, continuing to write in that unbelievably neat hand of his. “The worst that will happen is that the amount of magic flooding my system won’t be able to break the geas, that is all. The magic that has nowhere to go will shatter my pathways, possibly maiming me, but more likely killing me from the shock alone, if not disintegrating me altogether.”

Tony looked appalled. “Seriously? And this is the plan you’re using. Not ‘show the All-Daddy that you’ve reformed and should be given a pardon’ or anything else. No, you’re risking _maiming_ or death. Are you completely _insane_?”

“But I _am_ insane, Stark.” Loki turned his head slightly so that Tony could see the sharpness of his profile outlined by the sunlight streaming in; the smirk on his face was all teeth. “Besides, the All-Father will never lift the geas. Even Thor knows that, and he is a bigger buffoon than you are.”

“Hm.” Tony rolled back over onto his back, resting his head on his upturned palms. “Then what happens after you’re all juiced up again? Any plans for the future?”

He didn’t know if he really wanted to hear the answer. He didn’t know what he would do if Loki said something like, “Eliminate all of you mortals, of course,” or “I might try taking over this realm again.” But the god would hardly be likely to confess any such plans to _him_.

Behind him, the sound of pen against paper stopped. He continued to stare fixedly up at the flawless ceiling.

“I haven’t decided,” Loki said at last. “What is it you Midgardians say? Don’t count your chickens before they hatch?”

It was strange, Tony decided, to realise that he really didn’t know anything about Loki at all. Sure, he _felt_ as if he knew the god – it was a given after six weeks of being Loki’s dog and then another fortnight of whatever this _thing_ between them was – but he didn’t know _about_ him.

Loki was lonely and erratic, but also incredibly kind and surprisingly funny at times. Beyond that, Tony didn’t have a clue.

Was what he knew and understood of Loki enough for him to trust that the Asgardian wouldn’t immediately revert to his world-conquering ways once he was unfettered? He really didn’t know. He trusted Loki, but that trust only stretched so far; the same way Loki was for him, he suspected.

“Yeah, well, we Earthlings also believe in this thing called ‘planning for the future,’” he said shortly, determined to squeeze a straight answer out of the god this time.

Unfortunately, Loki seemed just as set on thwarting him.

“My future depends on a number of variables,” the god said calmly, like it wasn’t _obvious_ , and Tony rolled his eyes.

He sat up, leaned against the wall with his arms folded. “I can’t believe you’re trying to bullshit me. Me, the defending champion of bullshit. I mean, have you heard me talk to the press before? Unless you’re trying to be king of the world again, I don’t see why you can’t just _tell_ me.”

Loki was already looking at him, all stiff and prickly. The god’s face was set and neutral, but Tony could tell that he was getting pissed anyway.

“I _have_ been considering a number of alternatives, but until my magic is restored, I will refrain from making a choice,” he said patiently, the kind of eerie patience that came before the big, inevitably dangerous explosion.

“Yeah?” Tony raised a brow challengingly. “And what are those alternatives?”

Loki stood and took two steps to the side of the bed, pressing forward until he was kneeling on the mattress before Tony in a motion that should have been awkward but was instead strangely sinuous. Tony, his back already against the wall, only watched as the god’s face neared his, his expression a chilling mix of glee and anger.

“If you must know,” he said softly, one hand landing solidly on the wall beside Tony’s ear, “I once intended to kill Odin All-Father.”

Silence, as if he expected some sort of shocked exclamation from Tony. When none was forthcoming, Loki seemed to relax slightly, his eyes softening.

“But I have been reconsidering that decision as of late. Perhaps I will travel the Nine Realms and learn what I can. I do not much enjoy being confined on Midgard like this.” The god shrugged, hand falling back to his side, and something in Tony seemed to drop alarmingly at the same time.

“Oh. So you’re probably not, like, coming back for a while then?” he asked casually, nonchalantly.

Loki’s lips quirked in a faint half-smile that could almost be classified as playful. “As I’ve said, that depends on a number of variables.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed even as he started to grin. The god was just chock-full of things he wanted known but would never say; he was lucky that Tony had gotten pretty damn good at reading between the lines.

“And am _I_ a variable?” He scooted closer so that Loki was kneeling between his legs, leaning in so close that their noses were brushing.

“Perhaps,” Loki murmured, and closed the distance.

As Loki’s tongue swiped across his lower lip, Tony knew that that was all he was going to get. It didn’t seem to matter what he was able to infer on his own, but the god had never yet willingly spoken of this relationship-fling thing that they were stuck in. Instead, he seemed determined to believe that Tony was going to run out on him any day now – which he sort of understood, because _Tony_ kept expecting Loki to get tired of him and either kill him or kick him out of the apartment.

The team would probably have something to say about that.

They had taken the news that Tony was currently sleeping with Thor’s brother fairly graciously, all things considered – except Thor, who had looked equal parts betrayed and relieved, and Clint, who had looked like he was about to hurl, and not in a joking way either.

Cap had, surprisingly, been the most understanding about it, although he hadn’t been able to resist clapping Tony on the shoulder and saying solemnly that he hoped Tony knew what he was doing. Bruce had looked mildly grossed out, his sweet, earnest face full of worry for Tony’s wellbeing, but he certainly knew better than to interfere in the billionaire’s liaisons.

And who knew what Natasha was ever thinking? She had smiled at him, sure, but she could have been hiding murderous disgust behind that pretty face for all he knew. Mostly he just hoped that she was approving of how he had put his (literal) ass on the line for the team. That seemed like the kind of thing she would appreciate.

Other than the fact that everyone seemed to be under the impression that he was sending himself to his doom a few nights of the week (and maybe a few afternoons as well), everything was just as it had been. Cap still told him to “stop clogging the comms, Tony!” and Clint still had his back when he was being swarmed, loosing arrow after arrow without even seeming to draw breath.

He made sure to update Thor on how Loki was doing whenever he remembered, even if it was only a casual “well, he’s still grouchy like he usually is,” because the poor guy was clearly moping. He desperately wanted to help his brother, who didn’t _want_ his help, and he also very much wanted to rope his dad in to help his brother, but that would mean getting said brother into a _whole_ lot of trouble, which was something he wanted to avoid.

Just typical alien family drama, really. Tony tried his best to stay out of it.

And all the while, Tony was really just trying to figure Loki out – but maybe he already had his answers.

He pulled back before they could start making out in earnest, returning to the subject at hand like the responsible superhero he was. “So this magical artefact – where and what is it?”

Loki sniffed, but didn’t look wholly dissatisfied. “ _That_ is something I am still trying to determine,” he said, a hint of disdain creeping into his voice as he moved so that he was sitting beside Tony. “Midgard is hardly a haven for magical relics.”

“Magical relics like what? Thor’s hammer?” Tony’s brows furrowed.

“Hardly,” Loki scoffed. “Mjolnir _is_ magical; she holds her own power within her, but she cannot transfer this power to another. What I need is a _channel_ – one such as, say, the sceptre that you saw me using during my attack.” He said it so calmly that it made a little shiver slide down Tony’s spine; the words were clearly crafted to provoke, but it didn’t stop him from remembering the destruction that very attack had wreaked, the fear he had felt – not just for himself, but the city he lived in and called his own.

“Do you regret, Stark?” Loki’s voice jolted him out of his reverie, silky smooth and lethal. “Do you remember the day you laughed when I was broken by your green monster?” The god’s hand slid up Tony’s neck, chilly to the touch where it cupped the back of his head. Gently but firmly, Loki turned him so that he was staring right into the god’s eyes, moss-green and feral.

“Do you wish I had died that day?” A low, broken laugh escaped from Loki’s lips. “Do you wish you had killed me with your own hands? Exacted your revenge for every life that I took?”

Tony wrenched away, scrambling backwards until he reached the foot of the bed, his back hitting the wall. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest; he had never felt such fear in Loki’s presence before, not even during his first days as a dog.

Then the madness cleared from Loki’s eyes and he just looked very sad and very tired. He often appeared that way to Tony now, like he hadn’t been truly happy in a long time, perhaps because the god was finally letting his guard down and this was how he always felt.

“Stark,” Loki sighed, the word an apology in itself, and Tony closed his eyes, still feeling the uneven gallop of his heart as it tried to slow.

“I didn’t laugh,” he said without opening his eyes, and there was a tremor in his voice. “That day with the Hulk – I didn’t laugh.”

“I never truly thought that you did,” Loki admitted quietly. “I do know you.”

He scooted back over, pressing his palm against Loki’s chest so that the god took the hint and tilted onto his back. Tony rested his head on his arms, and his arms just below Loki’s collarbones, moulding himself comfortably against the god’s torso so that they were hip to hip.

“Stop trying to chase me away. It’s not going to work.” He felt Loki’s chest heave under him when the Asgardian chuckled, warm and throaty and more than a little rueful.

“Stark,” Loki repeated, and it sounded like a very resigned curse, or a gentle accusation.

Tony didn’t know what that meant; there was a lot he didn’t know about Loki. So he just looked at the god silently, tracing the sharp contours of his jaw with his gaze, the shadowed eyes, the corners of his eyes where wrinkles appeared when he smiled – until the god began stroking his hair absently out of sheer habit.

“This artefact,” he said after a moment. “Let’s say it belonged to someone and you had to return it after using it to lift your…geas or whatever. Would you?”

Loki’s brows knitted in the endearing way that meant he found Tony particularly puzzling. “I…that is a rather vague situation, Stark. I would require some context before deciding,” he concluded, as annoying logical as ever.

“I _mean_ ,” Tony started, beginning to trace random circles on Loki’s chest, wondering if he was making the most idiotic decision of his life, “that I might know where your magical spear is, and I can help you get it _if_ no one gets hurt, and it gets returned once you’re done with it.”

He had expected interest or excitement, perhaps even threats that he would dare to withhold information from a god or some such nonsense. Instead, Loki blanched, apprehension darkening his features for a moment before he settled back into his usual façade of nonchalance.

But it wasn’t exactly something he could hide when Tony was literally _inches_ from his face, waiting for his reaction.

“What? What is it?” He shifted into a sitting position, looking at Loki with trepidation. How could he _not_ be wary after the reaction he had just evoked from the god of pretending nothing mattered?

Loki shook his head, fixing a cool glance on Tony. “I was merely astounded by the extent of your stupidity. The sceptre should have been _destroyed_. Were you not worried that it would bring more Chitauri to your realm?”

Tony frowned, not buying the indifferent act one bit. “Well, _I'm_ not the one with sceptre. I just _think_ that I know who does,” he corrected.

Loki hummed lightly in acknowledgment and pulled Tony back down onto him, seeming disinclined to discuss the issue any further. As if Tony was going to just let this go.

“So?” he prompted, with the slightest hint of impatience in his tone as he drummed his fingers on Loki's chest. “Will the sceptre work to return your powers or not, Bambi?”

The god didn’t answer for a minute, and when he did, it was a snapped, annoyed, “Yes, it _might_ ,” that Tony felt was quite uncalled for. Then unexpectedly, Loki sat up abruptly and ran a hand through his dark hair, sending Tony reeling back from the spot he had just gotten comfortable in.

Seeing the testy expression on Loki’s face, he was just wondering if it was time to leave for the day when the Asgardian spoke again. “You should not be helping me do this, Stark. You owe me no obligation, no allegiance, nor have I made you any promises. I _cannot be trusted_.” He stared hard into Tony's eyes as he enunciated his last sentence, as if afraid that Tony might miss it and everything it implied.

“Why do you get to decide what I know and what I don’t?” Seriously, this inferiority-superiority complex at the _same goddamn time_ was getting old. “You know that it’s your choice, right? _You_ get to choose if you want to be a trustworthy person or a lying bastard; not your dad, not me, not like, _fate_ or whatever. You. So I’m making _my_ choice to trust you, and now it’s up to you to prove me right or wrong.”

He was jabbing Loki hard in the chest with an accusing finger with alarming regularity, something that he was hardly even conscious of doing until Loki caught his hand when it was halfway between them.

“You are _absurd_ ,” the god growled, tossing Tony’s hand aside and beginning to rub at his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“C’mon, you know I’m speaking sense.” Tony shifted closer; it felt like he was always doing this – being pushed away but bouncing back like a glutton for punishment anyway. “I’ve already said that I’m gonna trust you. If you tell me you won’t hurt anyone while getting the sceptre and you’re not about to make people kneel once you’ve gotten your magic back, I’ll believe you. Except me, I guess – I don’t mind kneeling every once in a while.”

 _That_ earned a choked laugh from Loki, at least. Tony swung his leg over so that he was straddling the god, then just sat quietly with a calmness he didn’t quite feel.

Was he making the right decision? What would the other Avengers say? (Although if all went well, maybe they wouldn’t have to find out.) But he’d thrown his lot in and that was pretty much that. No take-backs, as far as he was concerned, not unless he really wanted to push Loki over the edge for good.

“I have no interest in conquering anymore worlds,” Loki said after a moment, his tone incredibly dry. “And if your plan is as good as you say it is, then I shall promise not to harm anyone as long as they do not put either of us in direct danger.”

Tony considered that for a moment. “Fine, that’s acceptable,” he replied with a grin, enjoying the put-upon sigh that Loki gave. “You know, I really can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m going to help you steal a magical spear that you used to almost take over the world.” He shook his head; saying it out loud only made it sound even more preposterous.

Loki snorted, getting a very I-told-you-so look on his face.

“ _But_ ,” Tony made sure to mention, “we’re going to return it right after. Deal?”

Another snort, before Loki dutifully replied, “ _Yes_ , Stark. By the Norns –”

In one deft move (he was full of them, really), the god lifted Tony right off him and pushed him down onto the bed. With those horribly nimble fingers, he undid Tony’s pants in what felt like record time and – _oh_.

“Loki –” he tried to say, but the god’s hand was already cool and slick and _very_ distracting. Apparently, sex had gone from _I’m trying to show you how much I like you without having to actually say it out loud because I have more insecurities than Iron Man himself_ to a full-out avoidance tactic. It definitely wasn’t healthy, and Tony knew that he had to get to the bottom of the whole sceptre issue, which meant that he _really_ had to stop what was happening right there.

But clearly, his traitorous body had other ideas, because he was already half-hard and stiffening fast.

“How does it feel?” Loki purred, his breath warm against Tony’s chest, tongue darting out to lap at a nipple through the fabric of his shirt. His hand worked at Tony’s cock with swift, sure strokes, completely bypassing the usual teasing and foreplay. If he wanted to avoid talking, he was succeeding spectacularly.

 _You’re an asshole_ , Tony wanted to say, but all he managed was something that sounded like a bitten-off snarl.

Loki seemed to get the idea, because he gave his typical _I win_ laugh, and promptly vanished all their clothes to some magical pocket in deep space or something. Tony barely had time to process that that was _a thing that had happened_ before two fingers were being jammed into his ass and he actually _squeaked_ in surprise, back arching off the bed. It didn’t particularly hurt, but _still_.

“ _Christ_ , what is this? A race?” he groaned, as Loki began pumping in and out with little impatient huffs.

Loki didn’t respond, only pulled him into a sitting position again with a completely unreasonable sense of urgency. He could feel the god reaching down, positioning his cock against Tony’s entrance while his own erection was sandwiched comfortably between both their bodies.

Tony started to sink down onto Loki’s cock, but he was hardly halfway filled before he was halted in his tracks by the god’s unrelenting grip. He growled, glaring furiously. _Oh, so now you decide you want take it slow?_

The god of blowing hot and cold, if ever there was one.

Loki just watched him serenely, as if he wasn’t literally _throbbing_ right in Tony’s ass. He thought about resisting, and then he thought about how relative time was to both of them, and he gave in without too much difficulty.

“I want you in me _now_ ,” he said furiously, and Loki let go, letting Tony sink all the way down with a little cry of pleasure.

Loki didn’t even move his hips; he just let Tony set the pace, hands clutching at the god’s arms with a vice-like grip, forehead against his shoulder. Every slide up and down was making his cock rub up against Loki’s stomach, and he was slamming himself down faster and faster, desperate for the friction as he felt his release building.

One of Loki’s hands shifted along his thigh, like the god wanted to pump him to completion, but the small motion – the very _thought_ of Loki’s hand on him – was enough to make him come untouched. It was messy, splattering over them both; Tony tasted iron in his mouth, and it was only later that he realised he had bitten down hard enough on Loki’s shoulder to draw blood.

As it was, Loki only gave a soft grunt, finally thrusting up hard into Tony a few times, whiting out his vision the way the god always managed to somehow. Then he felt hot liquid spurting further into him, and all the tension seemed to shudder out of Loki. He began to kiss Tony softly, his tongue dipping into Tony’s mouth, quiet and undemanding.

He liked this, when Loki was as close to content as he ever got, his touches gentle and almost reverent on Tony’s skin. It didn’t always have to happen after sex – sometimes they just lay close together (cuddled, really) – but more often than not, those were the only times when he never really saw the god fretting, annoyed, studying or being otherwise occupied.

So he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment, lips parting and fingers tangling in Loki’s hair.

SHIELD wasn’t going anywhere; the sceptre could wait.


	11. Unleashed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted a little snippet of one of the Avengers' point of view of the Tony and Loki shacking up situation, so check out [Time Tells](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7866943) if that sounds like something you might like! Another bit involving another Avenger will be coming up soon, set chronologically after this chapter :)
> 
> As for this chapter, the Mind Gem is involved, obviously, and I have taken a few liberties with what it does. More specifically, I've drawn on this aspect of the comics: "The blue Mind Gem gives the owner psionic powers like telepathy and telekinesis or can augment the pre-existing mental powers of its user." Anyway, if any of the magic things that happen don't make sense to you, just leave a comment and I'll probably be way too happy to write you an essay about it :D

“I almost want to bet that we're going to get caught, but I feel like that would be jinxing myself.”

Stark was muttering to himself again, his voice edged with nerves, but Loki was well-accustomed to the mortal's rambling by now and paid it no mind. What little power he had managed to scrounge up in the time since Stark's transformation thrummed within him, but he remained very aware of how meagre his stores of magic were.

It would have to do. He had already spent days on end meditating without interruption, accumulating as much magic as he could with the little that seeped out from behind the geas' restriction.

And all the while, Stark had remained hard at work with his artificial servant – accessing SHIELD's data in order to identify the location of the sceptre; gathering pictures that depicted the layout of the facility in which the sceptre was kept; calculating and recalculating distances and the rotating shifts of the guards.

It made him feel both humiliatingly helpless and genuinely grateful.

Even now, Stark was not what he had expected. Arrogant and impudent, certainly, but also unnervingly perceptive at times. And _kind_.

Kindness was not something he had expected from a mortal, was not something he had thought he had _wanted_ at all. But Stark had turned out to be so much more than he deserved.

At the very least, he had yet to speak of any intentions to leave or end their tryst, for which Loki was unsure whether or not to be grateful for. After all, the longer the mortal stayed, the more painful their separation would be. Already he could feel himself growing more and more attached to the mortal with every passing day, as much as he wished otherwise.

And yet Stark often spoke as if they had a future together, of places he wanted to bring Loki to visit, of captured performances called ‘movies’ that he wanted Loki to watch. The mortal often spoke flippantly of these activities, but never insincerely.

It made him hope, and made him hold back from ending this liaison with Stark every time his dread threatened to overwhelm him. Dread that he was turning into little more than a pet, as Stark had once been to him; that he was growing content with simply being Stark's lover for the rest of the man’s short mortal life.

But Stark was ready to fight in order for him to break the geas and regain his power. Perhaps it was time to stop doubting the extent of his devotion.

“So, Bambi.” Stark seemed to give himself a stern shake. “All ready?”

He inclined his head, dipping his chin.

There had been some debate (and perhaps a few more physical altercations than he cared to admit) about how they would travel to their destination, given that he was as yet unable to teleport long distances, and the Quinjet was out of the question – the rest of the Avengers were quite clueless as to what Stark had been working on for the past week.

Stark donning his armour and flying both of them to the facility turned out to be the only viable option. This despite Loki's strenuous objections and recommendations that they travel via motor vehicle instead.

“Do you know how _long_ driving would take?” Stark had looked quite appalled at the suggestion. "I mean, it's not out there in New Mexico or whatever, but it's not exactly next door either."

Flight via the Iron Man armour would take just under a quarter of an hour, as estimated by Stark's artificial servant.

“I mean, as long as you can take the _speed_ ,” Stark had said thoughtfully. “I’m not going full supersonic or anything but…speed of sound, maybe?”

Loki only shrugged; he was certain that he was capable of tolerating whatever speeds Stark’s armour could fly at.

As it turned out, he was right – but he also ended up feeling vaguely nauseous. He closed his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing; he had never flown so fast in his life, not even when Thor used to grab him by the hand for short flights with Mjolnir. Stark’s armoured arm clamped around his chest while the rest of him dangled in the air did not make for a comfortable position either.

“Okay, we’re nearing. Time to put on our invisibility cloak.” Stark’s mechanised voice was whipped away by the wind as fast as he spoke, but Loki understood him well enough.

He hardly had to think to drape an illusion of camouflage over both of them, a simple enchantment far easier than even an illusionary double. With this particular illusion, he had been travelling Asgard undetected (except perhaps by Odin and Heimdall) ever since he was a mere child.

“Uh, did you do it?” Stark asked after a moment.

He sighed, raising his voice to be heard over the rushing in his ears. “It is done.”

“Oh, okay. It’s just kind of weird that I didn’t feel anything, and everything looks the same too.” Stark still sounded nervous, even muffled through his armour. “Not like Harry Potter at all.”

Loki didn’t deign that with a response. Already he could feel that they were slowing as they descended, clouds parting wispily before them to reveal a patchwork of colour far below. Beside a wide road bisecting a large field lay what appeared to be an abandoned compound – their destination, and the location of the sceptre.

The sheer force of the sceptre’s power hit him even before they landed, and his mind reeled from the forgotten contact. _So much power_. Every part of him yearned for it, his own imprisoned magic humming in response to a strength that was, even to him, otherworldly. How could the mortals not _feel_ it?

It seeped into the air, into the ground, reaching out until even its considerable power could stretch no further – not sentient, unaware, merely a vessel unable to fully contain what it held within.

And now that they were here, it entered him too. He drank it in like a parched beast, sating himself; not enough to even push at the barriers of the geas, but he was stronger now than he had been in a long time.

Iron Man landed a few hundred metres from the seemingly-empty compound and began to scan the area, setting Loki down as he did so.

Before Stark could speak, Loki murmured, voice rough with emotion, “I feel it here – the sceptre. It calls to me.”

Stark turned to him, glowing eyes unreadable. Loki didn’t like it, didn’t like not knowing what the mortal was thinking or feeling. What was in his dark eyes right now? Treachery, perhaps, or distrust? Had he been brought here to be handed over to SHIELD?

His lips curved into a small smile. In that case, they had surely chosen the wrong place if they wished to restrain him, if they expected him to be _afraid_.

“You know, that’s kind of creepy,” Stark said casually. “Please tell me it’s not calling to you in an evil way.”

Or perhaps the mortal was just being his usual foolish self.

He snorted. “No, the sceptre itself leans neither towards good nor evil, but the power it contains is immense. So immense that it fills me.” He closed his eyes, allowing the roiling currents of magic to engulf him. “I can teleport us right there this instant.”

“Wait, really? So just… _poof_.” Stark sounded almost disappointed. “No Mission Impossible stunts? I was kind of looking forward to perfecting my spy technique so I could impress Barton with my slick moves when I get back.”

Again, Loki ignored him; he had learned that half the things Stark said in jest tended not to require a response.

“Be still,” he warned, then grabbed the hard metal of Stark’s arm and gave himself up to the pull of the sceptre.

They materialised in the middle of a large, empty room that almost reminded him of a cavern. The walls were stone-grey and set far apart, and right in the middle, on an elevated silver stand, lay the sceptre. Out in the open, ripe for the taking.

Its muted hum was an angry whine at this proximity – not at all painful or a distraction in the way it sounded, but a source of energy that refused to be ignored.

Stark shifted closer to him, his voice low. “Okay, I’m just going to assume we’re still invisible, so…I think we’re in a safe. It’s probably where they store it when they’re not studying it or whatever. Can you do whatever you need to in here?”

Loki swallowed, eyes tracing the elegant, claw-like curve of the blade, its base glowing bright blue. He had no desire to touch the sceptre again, but they were already here, after all, and he _needed_ to. Needed it.

“Yes, I think so,” he said quietly, then he looked over at Stark. “But there might be some backlash. If you remain here –”

Stark clapped him on the shoulder, and Loki could almost hear the grin in the mortal’s voice. “Hey, that’s what the suit is for. State-of-the-art, so don’t look down on it, Bambi.” He rapped his knuckles on his own breastplate with a dull clang.

Loki stepped forward, the blue glow of the orb seeming to drag his focus forcibly onto it. He looked back once at Stark, who had retreated to one corner of the large room. The Iron Man’s head nodded in a manner that was strangely encouraging, and he turned back to the well of power that was drawing him towards it step by step.

Time seemed to slow as he reached out for the sceptre, his mind racing with exhilaration and terror, trying to prepare himself for – for _what_ , exactly, he didn’t know. Death if he failed? The Other standing before him once more?

Then his fingers wrapped around the burnished gold shaft, and the amount of _power_ that he held in his hands, that he could feel from within the innocuous blue orb – it staggered him, brought to mind infinite possibilities. Ways to rule, to destroy, to heal, to create, to _control_.

Clearly, the Other had relinquished its connection with the sceptre. Perhaps it was well aware that it was being held by mortals, and had no desire to frighten them into disposing of it. Perhaps the Other thought that the sceptre would be easy enough to reclaim when a second army was sent to subjugate Midgard.

It mattered not, for _Loki_ was the one in possession of the sceptre now.

His gaze encompassed by the gentle blue glow, he opened himself, surrendered himself to the full power of the sceptre. The floodgates burst open with a roar, and he could feel raw magic swarming into him, submerging him in a wave of agony as it battered relentlessly at the dams set down by the geas.

He could feel the strength of the geas within him, bending and flexing beneath the strain before snapping firmly back into place. The magic from the sceptre diverted, some flowing away, some beginning to pool against the barriers.

His pathways were stretched beyond belief, his body straining to hold itself together as magic began to invade where it did not belong, and still the geas held firm. He was lost in the maelstrom raging in him, sightless and senseless. There was no sense of time, no sense of anything but himself, existing, struggling to _keep_ existing.

He _was_ magic, filled with the power of the orb. It called to him, kin to kin, singing for him to join it in all its infinite manifestations.

And still he held himself together through sheer willpower alone, remembering that _he was Loki_. He was more than just formless energy, more than the stardust and tragedy that wept through his veins and tore him apart from the inside.

He was Loki.

Aesir. Jotunn. Nowhere and no one.

 _Mother!_ A part of him cried out in anguish for the warmth and trueness of her love.

He was Loki.

He fell, and strong hands propped him back up on a child’s unsteady feet. Odin’s hands.

A flash of red, a booming laugh.

Suddenly, he could feel them – the mind of every being on this realm. Crying out with their own petty troubles, screaming with anger and happiness and loneliness. Weighed down with age and careless with youth. So many voices murmuring in his head, building to a crescendo, splitting him apart.

 _Thor._ And his brother reached for him.

He was Loki.

He was breaking.

Lips on his. The rough scrape of a beard against his skin.

He could be a part of this if he let go. He could be eternity, unending, uncaring.

Stark.

_No –_

He was –

Drifting –

_Anthony._

Who was –

He was Loki.

_I am Loki._

And something shattered.

* * *

It wasn’t like Loki had prepped him on what to expect when the whole spell-removing thing actually happened, but to be fair, _nothing_ could have prepared him for what happened.

Absolute silence filled the small space as Loki reached out for the sceptre, his back to Tony. Even now, he had doubts that he was making the right decision.

But it was too late for any more uncertainty.

Nothing at all happened when Loki picked up the sceptre, and he felt a momentary pang of disappointment. Had SHIELD’s experiments messed it up somehow?

Then Loki’s entire body arched up, and Tony would swear on his life that the god _levitated_ for a full two seconds in a scene straight out of every horror movie ever. He heard a soft thump when the god fell, knees thudding to the ground, his hand still locked onto the sceptre.

The motion had twisted Loki slightly, and Tony had a front-row seat to the horrifying sight of the god’s head thrown back, eyes wide, mouth gaping, as blue light began to pour from every orifice.

Loki had warned him again and again not to approach while the geas was being broken, not under _any_ circumstances at all, but in that moment, Tony didn’t give a shit about any warnings. He would have dashed straight to Loki’s side had everything not happened so fast that he didn’t even have time to take more than two steps before everything exploded.

He was already moving, taking one step and then another, when the light seemed to swallow the god completely, flickering alternately with tongues of blue and green. Within, he could just make out Loki’s shimmering form, blurry about the edges like he was vibrating too quickly for the human eye to catch, still thickly spewing what was probably magic from his eyes and mouth.

“ _Loki_!” he shouted, not caring that SHIELD definitely knew by now that their security defences had been breached.

Something was wrong. He had to get to Loki, had to _do_ something.

Then every trace of an unearthly glow vanished and Loki blinked once, slowly, as if awakening from a long slumber.

Immediately, a shockwave of green expelled itself from the motionless figure, rippling outwards and slamming Tony backwards into the wall so hard that his head rang even within his helmet. Without a sound, without even a spoken warning from JARVIS, his displays shut down, leaving him blind and helpless in his suit.

 _Shit_.

He fumbled at his faceplate with clumsy, metal-clad fingers for a moment before ripping it out and tossing it to the side. The faint smell of smoke permeated the air; around him, the metal walls of the safe-like room looked impossibly warped and charred.

Looking down, he had never been more glad for the improvements he had made to his suit. _State-of-the-art indeed._ It wasn’t in particularly great shape at the moment, but _he_ was unscathed, and that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

Loki was still kneeling on the floor, head tilted slightly as he looked at the sceptre in his grasp, like a hawk considering its next meal.

An icy trickle of dread slid down Tony’s neck.

“Loki,” he said, and his voice sounded impossibly loud to his own ears. He tried to stand, but some part of the suit had been damaged near the hip, locking his left leg in place. He could feel the hard pressure of crumpled metal through the fabric of his pants, and he knew he was lucky to be uninjured.

Slowly, terrifyingly, Loki turned at the sound of his voice. The god’s eyes were bright and glassy, almost drugged-looking, as he focused on Tony’s face.

“ _Anthony_ ,” he said, his expression flashing through too many emotions for Tony to read – glee, triumph, confidence.

“Loki, c’mon.” Tony tried to keep his voice even as Loki rose to his feet and began to walk towards him with measured, stately steps, always with that damn stick in hand. “We have to get out of here. Put the sceptre down, okay? We have to go. Remember the plan?”

Loki knelt to his level and smiled, but with none of his usual sharp affection. This smile was all jagged edges touched by a wondrous insanity, and Tony finally knew what a cornered mouse felt like. Cold fingers brushed his cheek, and he trembled where he lay splayed, helpless in a suit that was now more deadweight than anything else.

“I _saw_ ,” Loki whispered reverently. “I saw everything. I was everyone. I had power beyond your wildest dreams. I have it in my hand, right now. Mine.”

He lifted the sceptre, as if Tony wasn’t already painfully aware of it.

He raised a hand, gripped Loki’s wrist. “You promised. You _promised_ me,” he rasped, and he knew that his voice was shaking. “You have your magic back. We’re done here. Put it down, _please_.”

Loki looked at him; his eyes shone like starlight, impossibly vast and distant, ethereal and terrifying. “I did,” he acknowledged coldly. “I gave you my word, and so I came back to you. I could have been everything, but I am not.”

He was sinking, drowning in the void of Loki’s unfathomable gaze.

Then there was a horrible shriek of metal upon metal, and he cried out in shock. SHIELD, trying to gain access the room, but the door was much too damaged to open of its own accord. They would have to drill right through it.

Spurred into action, Tony wrenched off his gloves, sending them clattering to the ground, and grabbed Loki’s face with his bare hands. His palms were clammy with sweat, but Loki hardly seemed to feel it.

_I could have been everything._

He remembered the anguish in Loki’s eyes, the anger, the tenderness, the strength – and now this bottomless nothing. Infinity.

“But you _are_ ,” Tony whispered, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “You _are_ everything – to _me_. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

The god – because that was what he truly looked like at that very moment – looked at him kindly, indifferently, but he had no words for Tony.

“ _Please_.” He was crying now, openly and unashamedly, running his hands through Loki’s hair, over his eyelids, tracing his lips. “You wanted to stay, remember? You wanted to travel. You wanted to see everything and learn everything. You _wanted_ so much.”

He could hear the faraway sounds of a large machine starting up, probably right outside the vault, but it hardly seemed to matter at this point in time.

“I wanted you.” Something glinted deep, deep in Loki’s eyes.

“Yes, _yes_.” Tony nodded, both his hands coming up to wrap around the one that still rested against his cheek.

Loki blinked at that, and every second seemed to pull him closer and closer back to Tony.

“No,” the god said, and he smiled again, this time softer and sweeter.

Tony froze.

“I _still_ want you, Anthony Stark,” Loki said gently, and the sceptre hit the floor with a resounding _plunk_.

Tony’s breath seemed to escape all at once, rattling out of his lungs, still unable to free himself from the visceral fear that he had lost Loki to something worse than death.

Loki tugged him forward and up, careful not to jostle his stuck leg. “Home?” he suggested calmly, turning pointedly away from the softly glowing sceptre.

“God, _yes_ ,” Tony agreed fervently. “ _Home._ ”

Loki laughed shakily, a soft noise that ached with both loss and relief, but his eyes were very green and very warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, only an epilogue left.


	12. Epilogue

“Seriously, Bruce, sometimes I wish you could – _holy shit_!” Clint leaped backwards, right into Steve, whose shoulder missed Natasha by half an inch due to her quick sidestep. Bruce, caught in mid-laugh, began to look alarmed, and Tony began calculating the possible cost of repairs.

Then Steve chuckled while Clint cursed a blue streak for at least half a minute. “Your _boyfriend_ , Stark,” the archer grumbled once he was done. “He saw me, grinned like a maniac, and disappeared. No idea what he’s up to.”

Tony snorted in amusement. “Probably just an illusion to announce that he’s back, I guess. Since Thor’s not here, I’m betting that he’s doing the dirty with Jane right about now.”

Steve stopped chuckling and promptly looked mortified.

“Well, I’ll see you guys for dinner,” Tony declared, then seemed to reconsider. “Or not. Well, whatever it is, I’ll see you guys for _tomorrow’s_ dinner, that’s for sure.”

Clint groaned, and Natasha cracked a smile that was almost mischievous. “Get going, Stark.”

“Yeah, yeah. FRIDAY, time to suit up – again.”

Loki had been gone for two whole weeks – not that long considering the way he pretty much disappeared off the face of the Earth (literally) when he was off touring the other realms or whatever – but this was two weeks in _Asgard_. Home of his not-so-nice dad who’d locked him up in prison.

Sure, he’d deserved it at the time, but _still_.

Of course, Thor had gone along to keep the peace, but it was still two weeks of silent fretting for Tony about whether Loki was getting horribly tortured right at that very moment.

Clearly, his fears had been groundless.

He swooped in through the open windows of Loki’s apartment and landed, the suit immediately peeling off him neatly.

“Honey, I’m _home_!” he called, grinning.

Sure enough, Loki strode out of his room two seconds later, looking annoyed. Despite his expression, he looked relaxed – relaxed enough to greet Tony with a long, filthy kiss accompanied by a playful pat on his ass.

“So, how did the trip go?” he asked, following Loki back into the bedroom and looking around. It looked exactly the same as before, except another potted plant had joined the first near the window, presumably a second souvenir from his mother’s garden.

“It went well,” Loki said neutrally, turning to take a seat on the bed.

Tony raised a brow. “Yeah? Like how well? Well as in you didn’t get arrested?”

“ _No_.” The god rolled his eyes, even as a smile escaped from behind his nonchalant façade. “The All-Father was most displeased that Thor managed to conceal my presence on Midgard from him for so long, but he decided not to pursue the matter. I spent most of my time with Thor, revisiting our childhood haunts.”

“Hm. Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.” He plopped himself down on Loki’s legs, leaning back and resting his full weight on the god. “So it was a good time?”

Loki’s fingers began to trawl through his hair slowly. “Yes,” he answered after a moment. “I spoke to the All-Father a few times, without Thor’s presence. We spoke of threats to the Nine Realms, and other…matters. We were civil.”

Well, not exactly what he had asked, but it would have to do. Either way, Loki didn’t seem inclined to speak much more about his visit.

In time he would, and Tony had learned to wait.

So he turned instead, holding Loki’s gaze with a cheeky glint in his eyes. “Did you miss me?”

The god snorted. “Perhaps.”

“ _Perhaps_?” Tony looked outraged. “I fly all the way here after not seeing you for two weeks, and _maybe_ you missed me?”

Loki grinned, sly and delighted. “I have yet to cleanse myself since returning to Midgard. If you really must know how much you have been missed, you will have to carry out your investigations in the bathroom.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

He tilted his head back, swallowing the rest of Tony’s seed with a satisfied expression as the mortal slid down the wall and back into the half-filled tub.

Licking his lips, he leaned in close and whispered lowly, “How good I made you feel is how much I always miss you during my times away from Midgard.”

Tony shivered, wrapping wet arms around his neck and kissing him fiercely.

His fiery, passionate mortal.

So strong, so brave, yet so fragile.

The spray of the shower dampened the man’s lashes, collected as sparkling droplets in his beard, rolled down the flat planes of his body, and Loki chased every bead of water to its end just to hear his name on his lover’s lips.

He nudged Tony’s legs open, and the mortal gave way easily before him, eyes drowsy and sated. His tight heat was a welcome home, and Loki tried to move slowly, angling his hips and attempting to give a much pleasure as he could before he took his own.

“ _Loki_.” The sound of Tony’s wanton moan cracked his iron self-control, and he began to thrust more wildly, palm protectively cupping the back of Tony’s head.

Every thrust made Tony’s rear squeak against the bottom of the tub, a discordant counter-melody to their harsh pants and lustful groans. The spray struck Loki’s back and neck relentlessly, further inflaming every inch of his skin as he felt Tony clench around him with a low whine.

“Love you,” Tony suddenly choked out, eyes wild, grip tightening on Loki’s shoulder.

He slowed, hips moving without thought, wondering at the way a simple word could make his thoughts churn so chaotically. Tony’s eyes locked with his, too clear, too _perceptive_ for his liking.

A soft “shh” hissed out from between gritted teeth as he began to rut faster, harder, until the man was completely incapable of speech, his eyes rolling back in his head and small cries of half-conscious pleasure-pain sounding from his lips.

He could feel his release building, looming to the point of pain until he gave in and gasped, “ _Tony_ ,” thrusting in once more, deeply, before closing his eyes and spilling his seed into the man.

Spent, arms shaking, he crawled forward to press tender kisses all over Tony’s face, watching up close as brown eyes gradually fluttered open, blinking against the spray of water drenching them before focusing on him.

“Hey,” Tony muttered, still sounding dazed, although his eyes brightened at the sight of Loki’s face mere inches away.

He pressed his cheek to Tony’s, placing his mouth by the man’s ear, and exhaled a single word.

“Lover.”

And he felt Tony smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap (with Loki being contrary as usual)! Thank you so much to everyone who actually made it through to the end - everyone who subscribed, bookmarked, kudos'd, commented. It was all supremely encouraging for someone who's never written a fic this long before.
> 
> Regarding a sequel (because a few of you asked about one), it's really a 'maybe someday, maybe not' kind of thing. We'll see if inspiration decides to hang around for a bit, but for now I've started writing another fic, so here's to hoping I finish it. Not to worry though, there is one last Tony/Loki-focused one-shot upcoming, so there's that :) Once again, thank you for reading! It's been an absolute blast.


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